


Four States, One Journey

by strengthsbasedmediocrity



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Anxiety, Closeted Character, College, Depression, Drinking, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, Prescription Drug Abuse, Slow Buildup to Eventual McPriceley, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, post-college
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 54
Words: 246,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5680531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strengthsbasedmediocrity/pseuds/strengthsbasedmediocrity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life throws so many things at you that you don't expect. Rejection. Addiction. Doubt. Divorce. But maybe, with the right people in your life, it can still be greater than you ever imagined. Chronicles of the characters' lives post-Uganda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART ONE: College Request Denied

_Note:_ I don't own _The Book of Mormon_ or any of its characters. Also, none of this story is real, any people in it associated with actual places (cities, colleges, etc.) are completely fictional. Cross-posted from FF.net

* * *

**PART ONE: OGDEN, UTAH**

**_College, Summer Before Freshman Year_ **

**Chapter One: College Request Denied**

Ever since Kevin Price returned from his mission, things had been awkward, to say the least.

He'd seen it coming, and had been quick to do what he could to make his transition back to the States as seamless as possible. Deactivating his Facebook page so he wouldn't have to face the countless messages asking what had happened and wondering why he wouldn't be going to church anymore, ducking in to Internet cafes while proselytizing in the bigger villages to submit college applications (he'd made it perfectly clear to his parents that his plans had changed and he wouldn't be attending BYU next fall), mailing his grandmother a Mother's Day card so she wouldn't be _too_ terribly disappointed in him. But anticipation and experience are two very different things. No matter how many times in he'd emailed his parents to explain that no, he didn't consider their new mission to be a cult, and yes, he did actually think they were helping a lot of people out, and no, he didn't acquire some weird African disease that messed with his brain, he still found himself repeating these very things the entire duration of the drive from the Salt Lake City airport to his family's home in North Ogden. Then there was his extended family, which was a whole other matter altogether.

Sometimes Kevin wished he could get a little more credit. It was hard, growing up in a rigid family with high expectations. Admitting those expectations no longer matched your goals was even harder. As much as he'd missed his family while he was away, he was counting down the days until he'd be off to college—where he wouldn't have to face the disappointed looks, disapproving sighs, or the clunky attempts to corner him for the same tired conversation. Like the situation he was facing now, for instance. Mr. and Mrs. Price had whisked him away to dinner ("Just the three of us. We have some catching up to do," Mr. Price had said), and now he sat awkwardly in his plastic chair across from his parents, the restaurant's florescent lighting casting a sickly glow over the food on his paper plate.

Mr. Price cleared his throat and clasped his hands enthusiastically. "This is nice, isn't it? Spending time with our boy after two years; having a good meal at a good price."

"Um, sure, it's great." Kevin had always assumed his parents' obsession with Kentucky Fried Chicken came from the fact that one could buy entire buckets of food there on a budget, a necessity for a family with six children. But no, apparently they ate there even when a mere fraction of the family was present.

"So Kevin, dear," Mrs. Price smiled tightly, clearly skirting around something. "You must be happy to be back home, right? Much more comfortable than that hut you were living in."

"I do like A/C and running water," Kevin chuckled. "I miss everyone, though." With Arnold less than an hour away in Salt Lake, the two still met on a regular basis. And thanks to no small amount of research on Kevin's and Elder McKinley's part, Nabulungi was able to acquire a visa to obtain her GED. But still, nothing could replace the camaraderie they experienced in Uganda, those nights when everyone, missionaries and villagers alike, would pitch in to prepare dinner and then crowd around the tiny dining room at missionary headquarters, laughing and exchanging new ideas for the church as they passed dishes back and forth. Kevin felt a twinge of sadness and decided to change the subject.

"Oh, guess what? I signed up for my orientation session at Johns Hopkins University!" he said, immediately brightening with anticipation. "It starts on the eighteenth. That works, right? We'll have to figure out plane tickets—unless you think we should make it a road trip, but I'll be moving in next month so we might as well just fly this time around…" He trailed off when he noticed the expressions on his parent's faces. Mr. and Mrs. Price were silent for a long moment, exchanging glances between each other.

"Sweetie," Mrs. Price finally began. "It's just, well..." she turned to her husband for assistance.

"What?" Kevin cut in, a sinking feeling forming in his gut.

"Your mother and I don't want you going all the way to Maryland this fall," Mr. Price finished. "Not after you failed your mission."

"For the thousandth time, I didn't _**fail**_ my mission. And I don't understand. I have to go to Maryland, that's where the school is. I'm all set to go; I'm picking out my classes in two weeks!"

"We understand you were excited, but we'd rather have you closer to home, given what's happened," Mrs. Price said. "And of course BYU has some wonderful programs—"

"I am _**not**_ going to BYU," Kevin snapped. "I know I used to say I would, but it's not happening anymore. I've told you that. Besides, do you honestly think they'd take me now?"

Mr. Price bit into a drumstick. "Well you're already a student at Weber State."

"Only because I took dual credit there in high school." No, no way. Not Weber State University. Anything but the school with a 100% acceptance rate he'd grown up practically down the street from; the one so many average students in Ogden attended without a second thought. "Mom, Dad, please. I _ **have**_ to go to Johns Hopkins. I want to be a doctor, you know that. I want to help people. They have the best internal medicine program in the country, and it's really competitive, but if I'm already there for undergrad my application will be that much stronger—"

"Oh honey, don't worry about not getting in," said Mrs. Price. "You're so talented and smart, you can go anywhere you want for medical school."

"After you do four years of undergrad at Weber State," Mr. Price clarified.

"Wait, I..." The reality of the situation still hadn't fully registered. Kevin had been expecting any number of difficult experiences this evening. Another lecture about his newfound coffee habit, continued pleas to come back to church, more not-so-subtle hints that Bishop Morrison's daughter Clarissa was such a good girl and definitely interested and wouldn't she and Kevin make such cute couple? But not _**this**_. "Are you serious?! You took me to KFC to tell me I can't go to college? Really? At _**KFC**_?"

"No, no, sweetie, you can go to college," Mrs. Price quickly replied. "Just not _**away**_ to college."

"And not to the college of your choice," Mr. Price clarified.

Kevin was on the verge of panic now. "I can't believe this is happening. You waited until _**now**_ to tell me this?!"

"Calm down, son. We don't want you throwing a fit; that's why we took you out in public."

"And we would've liked to talk to you sooner, dear, but you didn't give us much choice. You've been so stubborn since you got back—you won't go to church, you skipped the family reunion, and then there's the coffee—"

"There's nothing wrong with coffee, Mom."

"It's a gateway drug, Kevin!" she snapped. "One day you're drinking coffee, and the next you're living in a Motel 6 doing dirty things to other men for crack cocaine!"

"And we don't want that to happen to you, son."

Kevin gave them an incredulous look for one long moment. "Okay," he said slowly. "What if I promise to not become a prostitute or crack addict? Then can I go to college in Maryland?"

"No," they replied in unison.

"You can't make me go to Weber State!" Kevin crossed his arms and faced the two of them with his best glare. "I'm an adult, I can study where I want."

Mrs. Price wilted slightly under his gaze, fidgeting slightly. However, Mr. Price leaned forward and matched Kevin's determined expression with one of his own. "Not if you're hoping for financial assistance from us."

"I have a scholarship."

"Which only covers a portion of your costs. You're a smart kid; you know how much tuition and housing cost on the east coast. And if you're going to med school, you'll have enough debt as it is."

Kevin's first instinct was to tell them fine, he didn't need their help, he'd take out loans to cover the difference and just be in debt forever if it meant living his own life, thank you very much. But the logical part of his brain was already calculating the cost. Forty-something in tuition plus—what was it, eleven thousand?—in room and board minus his scholarship times four years was...way more than he felt comfortable paying on top of medical school bills. This realization, along with the finality in his dad's voice, drained away pretty much any fight within him.

"So that's it, then," he said flatly, slumping back in his chair with his arms still crossed. "You're actually gonna take away my college fund if I don't do what you say."

"Oh Kevin, don't be sad," Mrs. Price cooed. "Weber State is a great school! This is a good thing. It'll give you some time to get your focus back, and bring yourself closer to Heavenly Father again."

"We're not gonna make you stay with us," Mr. Price added. "You can live on campus, so long as you visit every week for church and family home evening. And you _ **will**_ start attending church again; I don't want to hear any more excuses from you, young man."

"And you can live with your little friend Arnold! Didn't you say he was going to college here? You two can get a dorm room together. Won't that be fun? Just don't go starting any more cults!" Mrs. Price smiled and patted Kevin's hand before turning back to his father. "Gerald, dear, we should get a bucket to take home to the others or they'll be upset. Do you need a box, Kevin, hon? You've hardly touched your dinner."

Kevin didn't respond, staring straight through his now cold chicken and mashed potatoes. Forty-seven days. Up until this evening that block of time was the only thing holding him back from escaping the household and town that now felt so foreign to him, from getting a fresh start somewhere completely new. A place where he could continue to grow the way he had in Uganda and start to become the Kevin Price he wanted to be—someone who helps people and has his life together and accomplishes every goal he sets for himself. He opened his mouth to say something, anything that could show just how crushed he felt right now. Yet even with all the thoughts now running through his head, he couldn't find the words.

He finally settled with one simple, deflated sentence. "I'm not hungry."


	2. A Great Day to be a Wildcat

****_**Freshman Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter Two: A Great Day to be a Wildcat**

"Welcome to Weber State University!" The girl at the Residence Life check-in desk flashed Kevin a smile so bright it put even his own pearly whites to shame. "It's a great day to be a wildcat. Can I get your name?"

Though Kevin still couldn't quite believe he was here, no amount of pleading over the weeks (and no one could say he hadn't tried) would change his parents' minds. Kevin had barely gotten the requested information out to the girl when he heard a shout of "BEST FRIEND!" from behind him and was promptly engulfed in Arnold's tight hug. "Kevin, buddy, you're here! I haven't seen you in so long! Like, three whole weeks!"

"Hey, I missed you too, Arn," Kevin chuckled, giving him a pat on the back and trying to extricate himself from Arnold's vice-like grip.

"I still can't believe you're here; how awesome is that?! At first, when I thought you were moving across the country, I was like, aww, my best friend's leaving me. But then you called and I was like, oh yeah, now he's not!"

Two years ago, Arnold's clinginess and excessive enthusiasm would've annoyed Kevin beyond belief. Now, though, he gave his friend a warm smile; at least someone could be happy about the situation. "I have to finish checking in, Arnold."

"Oh! Oh yeah, I gotta check in, too." Arnold looked over to the girl. "I'm Arnold Cunningham, his roommate. Can you believe it, Kev? We get to be roomies again!"

"Welcome to Weber State, Arnold. It's a great day to be a wildcat." She marked his name off the roster. "You two are on the third floor, so head on up there and your RA Cody will get you taken care of. Here's your lanyard, bumper sticker, mug, and planner. Can I get your shirt sizes?"

Arnold turned to Kevin in glee. "I love college. Look at all this free stuff we get! You're right, lady; it _ **is**_ a great day to be a wildcat!"

She laughed. "I still need your shirt sizes."

"Medium, thanks," Kevin said.

"And I need extra large—no, extra-extra large, just in case. Better too big than too small, right? And he's probably not gonna wear his, so give him extra-extra large, too. That way I get two shirts. No wait, Naba might want one. Give him small."

After receiving their mugs full of freebies, a viable tent, and a piece of shirt-shaped fabric roughly the size of a washcloth, the two started toward the elevators.

"Oh man, this is it, we're actually moving in to college!" Arnold was bouncing with excitement as they stepped onto the lift. What d'you think our room's gonna be like? Probably better than the one in Uganda—oh boy, I hope we get bunk beds! I wasn't really paying attention at orientation, so I don't know the layout."

"Don't get too excited; it's just a dorm room. Didn't you ever go to camp?"

"Connor says they're called residence halls, not dorms. Hey, I forgot to tell him you were coming here! Did you tell him you were coming here?"

"I haven't really talked to him recently," Kevin said as the elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor. Funny how he could go months without speaking to his former district leader, yet the prospect of seeing him again produced a weird, inexplicable flip of excitement in his stomach. He squashed down the memories of their last meeting, just like he had been doing all summer, and tried to sound nonchalant. "So he decided to enroll here, then? I knew he applied."

"Yeah! Poptarts too, but he's living at home. So now we're all here! And to think, you were gonna be all the way on the east coast at Harvard—"

"Johns Hopkins," Kevin corrected.

"Who's John Hopkins? Your advisor?"

"It's a place, not a person. Johns Hopkins University, the college I was going to. Not Harvard. Remember?"

"Never heard of it. Should've stuck with Harvard, buddy."

Kevin was about to ask how Arnold had never heard of a school the other had talked about nonstop since he'd been accepted, but then thought better of it and headed toward the RA's open door.

* * *

"Do you think my roommate likes me?" Connor McKinley as he hung up the last of his clothes.

Nabulungi took a seat on his newly made bed. "Do you mean _**likes you**_ likes you? No, definitely not."

"No, I mean that he's slightly terrifying, and do you think I'll be spared if and when he inevitably ransacks the floor?"

"Oh, I see. You'll probably be okay, but it's too soon to tell."

"Eh, I'll take it." Connor took a step back and surveyed his new living space. "Okay, I think that's everything! I mean, I should probably put a few things up on the walls, but honestly I can't be bothered right now. Thanks for helping me out, Naba."

"It was no problem; I was happy to help. I miss seeing you every day."

"I know, it's been way too long. Promise me you'll come up from Salt Lake to visit on the weekends."

Naba laughed. "Of course. It'll be weird living with Arnold's parents without him in the house. I can't wait until I get my GED and can join you boys here. This is a nice college."

Connor shrugged. "I like it." Not that he had much choice in where he went. Once he came out to his parents he was swiftly disowned, losing any college savings they had for him in the process. Luckily he was able to secure a decent enough financial aid package, and his former mission companion, Christopher Thomas, had agreed to let him stay with his family fifteen minutes away in Layton over summers and holiday breaks. It wasn't quite enough to make up for the fact that he essentially didn't have a family anymore, but it helped, and he didn't like dwelling on the unfortunate situation. "We should probably track Arnold down. Is he in this hall?"

"I'm not sure. I will text him," Naba replied. She pulled out her phone (a much-appreciated gift from the Cunninghams) and then continued, "I doubt he even knows, actually. I left him with his parents and figured he'd run into Kevin at some point."

Connor was in the middle of digging around for his keys, but stopped abruptly at her words. "Wait," he said, spinning around to face her. "Kevin's here? When did that happen?"

She gave him a puzzled look. "You didn't know? They're roommates."

"Since when? I thought he was going to—was it Georgetown?"

"Some fancy school in Ohio, I think," Naba shrugged. "But his parents wanted to keep an eye on him and said he had to stay here."

"That's a shame. He must be devastated."

"He was upset, yes. I figured he would have told you."

Connor shook his head. He hadn't heard from Kevin since their last 24 hours in Uganda, when several of the elders decided to sample the assortment of beer at the village's going-away party. In his drunken state, Kevin had whisked him away from the crowd and, much to Connor's surprise, kissed him with fierce urgency. The excitement was short-lived, however; though he didn't outright ignore Connor the next day, Kevin clearly avoided him the entire trip back to the States.

The obnoxious sound of Naba's phone jerked him out of his reverie—much to the disdain of everyone around her, she took great delight in the variety of ringtones available and felt compelled to try them all. She briefly scanned the message before hopping up off the bed and starting for the door. "They're here, on the third floor," she said. "Let's go see them."

She hovered in the open doorway, waiting for him to follow. "Come on," she said, grinning at his hesitance. "Be excited, you get to see your _**boyfriend**_ again." Though Connor hadn't told her about the party incident, she'd long ago picked up on his crush.

"He's not my boyfriend," Connor feigned annoyance, snatching up his keys and giving her playful shove when she laughed. "And he never will be." Whatever motivation Kevin had for his avoidance, be it an inability to come to terms with hidden feelings or mere embarrassment that he'd kissed Connor in a drunken state of stupidity, Connor wasn't going to mess with it. He was through hiding, after all.

They pushed open the door to the stairwell. "Arnold's going to hate climbing up these stairs," Naba remarked as they began the trek from the first to the third floor.

"There's an elevator. It's bound to break at some point, though. They always do."

When they reached the third floor hallway they heard Arnold before they saw either of the two, his loud, excited voice making it clear which of the many open doors led to their room.

"Okay, okay, I've got it!" he was saying. "Why don't we shove the beds together to make one big bed? Then we can turn that side of the room into a blanket fort."

"We are not making one big bed, Arnold."

"But why not? We'll have a blanket fort!"

"Because I want my own bed, that's why."

Connor and Naba reached the doorway just in time to see Arnold throwing up his hands in frustration. "You always do this! I have really good ideas and you just shoot them down. Why you gotta dull my sparkle?"

"Nobody can dull your sparkle." Naba reached behind him to give him a hug.

"Oh, hey guys," Arnold said cheerfully. "And _**he**_ did! Look at how boring this room is; just look at it!"

"It's fine," Kevin sighed.

"You only think it's fine because you have a simple mind."

"Look, it won't be so plain after you get all your stuff up, and—wait, did you just call me stupid?"

"Not stupid, just basic. So you almost went to Carnegie Mellon, big whoop. Doesn't mean you can think outside the box. Seriously, we've gotta do something about this room. I can't believe it didn't even have bunk beds!"

Connor cleared his throat. "You know, if you want the beds bunked, all you have to do is..." He trailed off at Kevin's hasty _don't tell him_ gesture.

"You can worry about where to put the furniture later," Naba laughed and moved a box aside to sit on Arnold's desk chair. "I'm sorry about your fancy school, Kevin, but I'm so happy you're here! I was going to miss you."

Kevin grinned (goodness, Connor loved that grin) and said, "Aw, I would've missed you too, Naba."

A tense silence followed, with both Arnold and Naba clearly waiting for Kevin and Connor to acknowledge each other while each of the two men waited for the other to take initiative. Connor finally decided to start. "It's great to see you again, Kevin," he chirped, just as Kevin spoke up, cheerful tone a bit too exaggerated, with "So Connor, how's it going?"

Both awkwardly laughed, and Connor found it difficult to look Kevin in the eye, so he settled with nervously scratching the back of his neck and focusing on one of the bedposts. "I'm good," he said. "Excellent, really. You look great. I mean, you know," he coughed. "Healthy."

"Um, yeah, thanks. You look…healthy, too," Kevin replied, and damn it, why couldn't they both have held their liquor and kept to themselves that night? It didn't matter to Connor how good how good Kevin's lips had felt against his own; he'd gladly give that up just to end the tension they were facing now.

* * *

Arnold guessed he should be confused right now. He figured that, like Naba who was quizzically glancing between Kevin and Connor, he should be wondering why the two were sloppily stumbling through their conversation. But no, he knew exactly what was going on. They thought he didn't know, because Arnold had been clever and covered his tracks, but oh yes, he was indeed aware.

It all started during their last night in Uganda, when the villagers threw a totally awesome going-away party for Naba and the departing missionaries. After only one sip of beer, Arnold decided that alcohol was disgusting and declined any more. Kevin had done the same until Mutumbo began teasing him about being unable to handle it, and then his competitive side kicked in. It wasn't long until he was completely wasted, laughing loudly at everything being said and taking over the karaoke machine, his highlight of the evening being an off-key rendition of Lady Antebellum's "Need You Now," with Kevin enthusiastically shrieking out the female vocals while the General hesitantly mumbled the male part alongside him.

Once that tragic display was over, however, Kevin disappeared. Arnold—who, by the way, was thoroughly enjoying the shitshow and proud to add this to the short list of times _**he**_ was the one better put together—waited a few minutes before excusing himself from the festivities to track down his companion.

"Best friend?" he called as soon as he'd stepped outside the giant tent they'd pitched for the occasion. When he got no response, he ventured out a bit further.

He was just rounding a patch of shrubbery when he spotted Kevin with his back against Gotswana's empty hut. Only he wasn't alone; standing in front of him was his district leader, in very close proximity with their lips locked, Connor combing his fingers through Kevin's hair and Kevin resting one hand on Connor's waist and gripping Connor's tie with the other.

Arnold quickly ducked back out of sight unnoticed, his mind full of questions. Did this mean Kevin was gay, or was he just that drunk? What if Connor had been his boyfriend this whole time and he hadn't even told Arnold? Did Kevin not trust him enough? But they were supposed to be friends, weren't they?

Regardless of the reason, they clearly didn't want to be seen, not by Arnold or anyone else. Oh no, Arnold wondered, what if someone else came looking for them—or came looking for _**him**_? An idea struck him, and he took a few steps back. "Elder Price!" he called out, feeling quite clever. "Best friend, where are you? Elder Price?"

When he rounded the shrubbery once more, the two were separated, Kevin still leaning against the hut with uncharacteristically disheveled hair while Connor discreetly straightened his tie. "Oh, hello, Elder," Connor said brightly when he spotted Arnold. "Elder Price and I were just…having a little chat."

At that, Kevin dissolved into a fit of giggles and slid down to the ground. "Having a chat," he slurred. "Hey, hey, Arnold—hey, that was a TV show!" Another eruption of laugher burst from his lips. "I love Uganda, and I love you both so much, and I never wanna go home. I wanna stay here forever and ever all my life, and then I wanna go to Orlando and stay _**there**_ forever and ever all my life." He squinted up at both of them from his seated position. "You guys are so tall. Hey, let's call Dominos and order a pizza! I want pepperoni and pineapple; that's just really what I want right now."

Needless to say, Kevin was so hung-over the next morning that it took all of his strength just to pull himself out of bed and onto the bus. By the time they'd reached the airport and he'd had a chance to recover a bit, Arnold had a much firmer grasp of the situation. The fact that Kevin went out of his way to sit on the opposite end of the plane from their district leader combined with their brief but awkward farewell at the SLC airport—complete with blundering handshakes and an insincere "Keep in touch!" on Kevin's part—proved that this was indeed the first time such an incident had occurred. Only one question remained: was Kevin simply mortified by his drunken antics, or was he burying feelings he wasn't ready to face?

Either way, Arnold wished he'd gotten over it by now. They were in college to have fun, dang it, and they couldn't do that if Kevin and Connor could barely even speak to each other. "Okay!" he said now, hopping up and breaking the silence that had settled in their room. "I'm hungry, is everyone else hungry? Let's find my folks and get some food!"

"We still have to unpack," Kevin pointed out. "And I have to make another trip back home to grab the rest of my stuff."

"We have all year to unpack and get your stuff and build our blanket fort! Come on, you heard that lady back there; it's a great day to be a wildcat. Now let's go!"

He started for the door with the others in tow, ignoring Kevin's "We are _**not**_ taking all year" behind him.


	3. Three Calculi

_**Freshman Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter Three: Three Calculi**

"College is awesome," Arnold said as he happily flopped down on his bed. "I only had three classes today. I didn't have to go in until 10, and now it's four and I'm done with everything! How cool is that?"

Kevin didn't look up from his biology textbook.

"Kevin! I _**said**_ , how cool is that?"

"Fantastic." He ran his highlighter across the page.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Kevin finally sighed and looked up. "Look, sorry Arn, but I have two problem sets for Calc II and fifty pages to read by Wednesday. Didn't your teachers give you any homework?"

"Wait," Arnold frowned. "Why are you in Calc II; you're only a—wait, there's _**two**_ calculuses!?"

"I took Calc I for credit in high school, and there's three, actually."

"THREE CALCULUSES!?"

"Relax, you don't have to take any of them unless you're a math or science major."

"Oh good, you had me worried, buddy. And you're actually doing the reading? See, I'm not actually doing the reading."

"Of course I am!" Kevin looked up at Arnold in alarm. "They wouldn't have assigned it if it wasn't important. You should really be keeping up with it, too. You're in Bio as well, right? There are a lot of important concepts in here."

"Yeah but I'm in the dumb one, so no big deal."

"It's not the dumb one, it's the one for non-science—oh why do I bother; you didn't even read the Book of Mormon for your mission."

"And it turns out I didn't have to, remember? You probably don't have to do half the stuff you freak out over. C'mon, try having some fun. Oh, I know, you can come with me to gaming club tonight."

Kevin sighed. "Arnold, I need to study. I need a perfect GPA so that I can get into med school at Johns Hopkins, and then get a stellar residency and become a doctor, buy a house in a small suburb of Orlando, get married, have three kids and two dogs, and finally get my life back on track. How exactly is gaming club supposed to help me with any of that?"

"I told you, it's fun! You're gonna explode if you do all that without having any fun." When Kevin's gaze didn't waver, Arnold supplemented his comment with an explosive hand gesture. "Boom. Just like that."

"I'm going to the library." Kevin capped his highlighter and gathered up all his materials in his messenger bag. As he walked out the door, he heard Arnold call out, "Okay, but we're doing something fun when you get back!"

* * *

The library was relatively empty, since most students elected to take it easy the first day of classes. Kevin chose an isolated table in the corner and made himself comfortable, laying his notebook and textbook in front of him. He has just gotten back into his groove when he heard the soft scrape of chair legs against carpet and another figure took a seat at his table. He looked up to see Connor sitting across from him, a no-nonsense expression on his face.

"You've been avoiding me," he said.

Kevin shifted uncomfortably. "I've, uh, been busy," he said. _Don't stare at his mouth; what's wrong with you,_ he chastised himself. "How were your classes?"

"They were fine. Don't change the subject."

"Look, I really need to read this—"

"It can wait a few minutes. No one else is here, so talk to me. You kissed me in Uganda. Why?"

Connor was right, there was no one else in earshot. Still, Kevin furtively glanced around them before hissing, "Do we really have to do this now?"

"We do."

"Fine, then. Isn't it obvious? I was drunk. So were you, I think."

Connor leaned back and eyed him for several seconds before he spoke. "Because you were drunk," he repeated. "Is that all?"

_Maybe. Not really. I don't know._ "Yes."

Connor finally broke eye contact with him, and Kevin quickly continued with, "I'm sorry if you thought there was something else. But I'm straight, you know that."

"Of course I do." The bitterness in his voice made Kevin cringe. Connor must have caught that, because he quickly composed himself. "Well then, now that we've cleared that up, are we okay? We _**do**_ go to the same college and share a set of friends, after all. We can't avoid each other forever."

"I…" Kevin bit his lip and looked away. "Sure."

"Why are you hesitating? So you got drunk and made out with another man. Get over it. No one knows but us, and if I can live with it then so can you."

Kevin sighed. "I'm just dealing with a lot right now, okay? Look, don't take this the wrong way; you're a great guy. But it's not like I was expecting to see you again anytime soon—honestly, I'd actually managed to block that night from my memory until now." Mostly, anyway. "Do you have any idea what my parents would say if they found out about it? They've already stuck one fat roadblock in front of my dreams."

The look Connor was giving him now was far from understanding, his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised in disdain. "Well at least you still _**have**_ parents," he spat. "And siblings, and a house and your pets and everything else you so clearly take for granted. You know what I have? A couple boxes my sisters mailed me and my bank account. Heck, I even had to close that and reopen it with another bank just to make sure my parents wouldn't pull it, too. I had to use student loans for a down payment on another car because the one I use to have was in their name. And the worst part is that I don't even really care about those things. I just want to see my family again, and it's not happening any time soon, if ever. So forgive me if I'm less than sympathetic to your little predicament."

There was a long, tense silence, with Kevin unsure how to respond, before Connor sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was out of line. I know how hard you worked to get into Georgetown."

"Johns Hopkins," Kevin corrected automatically. "And no, you're right. I think it's awful what your family did to you. I can't even imagine what that's like."

"Yes, well," Connor smiled tightly. "When people fork over the cash to send their kid to pray-away-the-gay camp, they get real upset when it doesn't work."

"Wait, they actually sent you to one of those places?"

"When I was younger, yeah. A couple times, actually. But I don't like getting into the details."

"Right." That was understandable. "Well, uh…I really have to finish reading."

"I'll leave you to it." Connor stood up and smiled. "See you at dinner?"

"Of course." Kevin tried to focus once more on his reading after Connor left, he really did. But his mind kept wondering back to that moment, and he caught himself unconsciously running a finger along his bottom lip as he remembered the feeling of Connor's mouth moving against his own. He let out a sigh and lowered his head, his forehead falling against the book with a thunk. Why did this have to be so difficult?


	4. Cool Kids Go To Major Fest

_**Freshman Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter Four: Cool Kids Go To Major Fest**

"All righty, you two," Connor called out cheerfully, knocking on Kevin and Arnold's open door before stepping inside and waving a bright flyer with an excited grin. "I have something I need you to attend."

"Major Fest?" Kevin asked, frowning as he took the flyer from Connor.

"They're setting up space in the union to advertise every major on campus! Isn't that exciting?"

"I already know my major. So do you."

"I know, I know, but my comp teacher's giving us extra credit if we attend. Oh, and Arnold, since you're undecided, I thought you might find it useful."

"Yeah. Can't make it, sorry," Arnold said, eyes glued to the television and Xbox controller in hand. "I'm busy during that time."

Connor smiled tightly. "You don't even know when it is," he said.

"Yeah…probably busy, though."

"And why should I have to go?" Kevin asked. "I have enough going on as it is."

"Because, Kevin, there's still a lot you could gain," he countered. "Every academic department on campus is going to be there. You could learn about a program you didn't even know existed. And all of the student resources are gonna be represented, too. There's the Writing Center, academic advising, student involvement, career services—"

"Are they giving you extra credit to promote it, too?" Kevin cut him off, eyebrows raised.

"No, I just think it's a great opportunity. Look at how much effort they've put into this! I love college, don't you?"

"Sure," Arnold said dryly. "That's exactly why I love college. Because of Major Fest and academic advising."

"He's right, Arn, you should really go," Kevin pointed out. "You need to pick out a major."

"Hey!" Arnold finally tore his eyes away from the screen. "He said you should go, too. Oh shoot—" he winced as his character was sliced in half. "Whoops. But yeah, if he's right about me then he's right about you, too."

Kevin quickly wracked his brain. "Um, that's…not necessarily true," he said. "Like I said, I already know my major _**and**_ my career. I've also already met with my advisor even though most people haven't even scheduled their appointments yet, and I don't need the Writing Center because I'm a great writer."

"What about study abroad?" Connor asked. "Did you know a lot of programs have national trips as well? You could go to Orlando."

Kevin perked up at that. "Really?"

"Yep." Connor's grin widened as he realized he had him hooked. "You can find out more about it at Major Fest. I'll see you there!" He spun around and took his leave before the others could protest.

Kevin groaned. "But I have so much to do," he whined.

"You know you're gonna have to go." This time, Arnold paused the game before facing his friend. "I'll go if you go."

"Ugh. Fine."

* * *

"Isn't this exciting?" Connor surveyed the entrance to Major Fest with glee. "I love the union. Especially when they use it for big programs like this."

"Sure, it's great," Kevin said. "Now come on, let's hurry up and find Arnold a major so we can leave." He stepped forward through the wide open double-door entrance, and the others followed. A woman inside greeted them with a chipper smile.

"Welcome to Major Fest," she said. "What are you interested in studying?"

"Microbiology with minors in math and chemistry, pre-med concentration," Kevin rattled off. "But I've already declared that."

"And I'm musical theatre," Connor replied.

"Yeah, and I'm undecided," Arnold said. "No idea what I want to do."

"No problem! Feel free to browse all of our programs here. We have professors, GAs, and fellow undergrads at every table who can tell you more. And don't forget to check out our student resources."

"Thank you!" Connor chirped, a hand on Arnold's shoulder as he ushered him passed crowds of students toward the tables. "So Arnold, what subjects interest you? Is there anything you're even slightly considering?"

"Not sure," Arnold looked along the first row of tables thoughtfully. "Nothing like what Kevin's doing. I want to actually enjoy my life."

"Hey!" Kevin snapped. "Okay then, what about English? That sounds fun, right? Reading books? You'll never be able to get a job after graduation, but at least you'll have fun while you're here. Come on, let's go find the English majors."

"You know, English majors do more than sit around reading books," Connor defended as they wandered along the rows of tables. "And there are plenty of jobs out there for them."

"Sure, of you want to work in retail your whole life."

"Connor gave him a dirty look. "Oh, really? So what about me, then? I'm in an artsy field as well; what exactly do _**my**_ prospects look like, according to you?"

"Honestly, I think you're really talented, and you have a great chance of being part of the one percent who makes it to Broadway. But if you don't make it, then you're basically screwed."

"Right," Connor deadpanned. "Well, I'm gonna go talk to my friends at the theatre table. Arnold, let me know when you're sick of him, and we'll look around together. Sound good?"

"Yeah, see ya!" Arnold called as he took off. "Glad to see you guys are talking like normal again," he told Kevin.

"What do you mean?" Kevin asked, his shoulders tense.

Arnold hesitated and decided to play dumb. "Well, you guys were weird the other day. But you seem fine now."

"Were we?" Kevin's voice was slightly higher as he spoke. "Didn't seem that way to me. Oh, well, anyhow, what else do you want to look at? Business? Anthropology? Elementary Ed?"

"Um, okay," Arnold frowned. "Yeah, I guess we can check out those, and…oh, man," he stopped as the Fraternity and Sorority life display sitting on the Student Involvement and Leadership table caught his eye. "Check it out," he said longingly. "It's the cool kids."

"The what?" Kevin backtracked and looked toward where Arnold was staring. "There's no such thing as cool kids in college, Arn."

"But it's the Greeks, Kevin!"

"They have a lot more than Greek life in Student Involvement."

"Well yeah, but everyone wants to be a Greek. Don't you?"

"Are you kidding?" Kevin laughed. "My parents would have a fit if I joined a fraternity. But hey, you can be a part of whatever you like. If you want to go talk to them, then do it."

"No way," Arnold said, shaking his head and stepping back. "I'll look stupid."

"Come on, don't be like that." Kevin took his arm and pulled him forward. "This isn't high school, and people think you're great. What's the worst that can possibly happen?"

"Um, cardiac arrest."

"You're not gonna have a heart attack. Now go on." He gave him a little shove forward when they reached the table, and Arnold felt his throat go dry. One of the students standing by the display, a handsome man with a shirt featuring Greek letters Arnold didn't recognize, gave him a casual nod. "How's it going?"

Arnold's mind promptly went blank. "Um, yes, hello." The words tumbled out of his mouth with no control. "My name's Arnold and I recently became a prophet. All of my followers are in Africa, though." Beside him, Kevin sucked in a sharp breath. "This is my best friend Kevin," he quickly added. "His interests include waiting for marriage and Orlando, Florida."

The frat guy gave him a blank look. "Cool," he said abruptly. "You do you, man. Here's a brochure."

"Thanks," Kevin said hastily, snatching the brochure and steering Arnold away. "Have a nice day."

"I told you I'd sound stupid!" Arnold hissed.

"It's fine," Kevin said. "Let's go find that English table, shall we?"

Arnold sighed miserably. "No, let's just go back to the dorm. I'm not gonna find anything I can study, anyway. Weber State doesn't have a major in worthless."

"Sure they do; it's called philosophy." Kevin smiled wryly. "Want to go find their table, too?"

"If you're trying to be funny, it's not working."

"Sorry, pal. Don't worry about that Greek guy. Lots of people love you, awkwardness and all. You've got me, Naba, Connor, Poptarts, the villagers and the rest of our mission friends, the gaming club—come on, that's a ton!"

"There's not that many people in gaming club," Arnold pointed out.

"Hey," Kevin patted his shoulder. "Quality beats quantity."

"Thanks, best friend." Arnold grinned, already feeling a little better. They had circled around and were now in view of the theatre table, and Arnold watched with envy as Connor chatted animatedly with the students there. "See, why can't I be like him?" he whined. "It's so easy for him to talk to people!"

"He's great, isn't he?" Kevin quickly checked himself, but not before Arnold caught the brief glint of adoration in his eyes. "But he also gets weirdly excited over things like Major Fest, so don't get too jealous. Oh, and you're way more imaginative than him, which is good because you know who needs imagination? English majors! Let's go find them."

"Um, Kevin? Are you just trying to make me pick a major so we can leave?"

Kevin paused. "Kind of," he admitted.

"Okay, well in that case, I don't want to be an English Major. I want to look at every table here—except English—and carefully weigh my options. Oohh, look, multimedia! Maybe I could make movies!"

He made a mad dash for the table, laughing as Kevin groaned behind him.


	5. Prophet in the House

_**Freshman Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter Five: Prophet in the House**

 

"Hey, Kev?" Arnold looked up from his laptop. "Can I borrow some money?"

Kevin flipped to the answer page in his calculus textbook and huffed in frustration. "Why can't I get this right?" he exclaimed, snatching up his homework sheet and scrutinizing his work. "How much do you need?"

"Fifty, maybe sixty bucks."

Kevin looked up at him in alarm. "Seriously? You already owe me thirty!"

"Yeah, but there's a new Sims coming out! I'll pay you back, I swear."

"Don't your parents send you money each month?" Kevin decided to just start on the problem from scratch and began vigorously erasing the sheet.

"Yeah," Arnold began as he shifted in his seat on his bed. "But I spent this month's already, and I don't wanna ask them for more. My dad'll just yell at me."

Kevin shook his head, making a mental note to teach his friend how to set up a budget. "Sorry buddy, I don't get paid till next week. Have you thought about getting a job? I love working at Starbucks."

"Only 'cause you get discounts," Arnold muttered. "Which, by the way, don't do much good when you spend half your paycheck on the product you're selling right after your shift."

Kevin chose to ignore that remark. He opened the student employment page on his old-yet-still-reliable white MacBook and then stood up. "Check this out," he said, flopping down next to Arnold and showing him the screen. "Look at all the places hiring on campus."

Arnold quickly glanced at the page and gave Kevin a look of horror. "I don't want to work at the cheesie grill!"

"Fine, you don't have to. There's a bunch of academic offices hiring, too. You could be a front desk worker. Or you could work at the bookstore. "

"Hmm," Arnold squinted at the screen. "Those jobs want résumés, though. I don't have one of those."

"That's okay, we'll make you one!" Kevin grinned, his whole face brightening like it always did whenever he was able to use his expertise to help someone else. "Here, I'll show you mine—it looks amazing, if I do say so myself—and then you can use it as a model for building yours."

Arnold peered at the Word file now displayed on the screen. "You've done so much stuff!" he said. "Oh, man, I can't believe you built a dog park. A whole dog park!"

Kevin smiled proudly. "Aw, thanks, pal. That was my Eagle Scout project. I really have done a lot, haven't I?"

"I don't even have half of this stuff. How am I gonna fill it up?"

"You have plenty of experience," Kevin said. "What about all the things we did in Uganda? Look, just try writing out all the service and leadership experience you have and putting it into a format like this one. I'll look over it when you're done and we can modify it from there. How's that sound?"

"You sure you can't just do it for me?"

Kevin glowered at him. "Do I get your paycheck, too?"

"What? No, that's my paycheck."

"Then no."

* * *

_The Following Afternoon_

"Can I borrow one of those highlighters?" Connor asked, eyeing the two on the table that accompanied the one in Kevin's hand. "I left mine in my room."

Kevin flashed him a mock glare. "You're screwing with my color-coding system, you know that?" He picked one up and tossed it across the table. "Fine, but I'm taking it back if I need it. Have the pink one; I use it least."

Connor laughed. "I love pink."

"Believe me, I'm well aware."

The two were sitting across from each other in the library, Kevin with his nose in his chemistry book while Connor tried with all his might to keep himself interested in American history. After recovering from their initial awkwardness, the two had become rather comfortable, often meeting in the library for afternoon study. Kevin was grateful for the quiet, and Connor found it was the only time he could force himself to actually read his textbooks—although he caught himself staring at Kevin, his eyebrows scrunched adorably in concentration, more often than he'd care to admit.

They worked in silence for a while, until Kevin paged through the remainder of the chapter and scowled. "This is so much work," he grumbled. "Maybe I should change my major."

"What are you gonna change it to?" Connor asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Did you find something you liked at Major Fest?"

"Oh, enough about Major Fest already. And I don't know. The com students seem to have it easy; maybe I'll do that."

"You think you can be a doctor with a communication degree?" Connor asked skeptically. "Come on, your classes can't be that bad."

"Says the theatre kid," Kevin smirked.

"For your information, my dance class is pretty hard. Think _**you**_ could do it?" Connor recapped the highlighter and tossed it back, hitting Kevin squarely in the forehead.

"Ow!" Kevin jerked his head up and rubbed the reddened spot. "You could have hit me in the eye! I could be blind right now."

"Wouldn't matter. Com majors don't need two working eyes."

"Rude," Kevin said, picking up the highlighter and putting it back in his pile. "You're not getting this back."

"Oh, dear," Connor sighed. He feigned sadness, shutting his textbook and slowly sliding it to the edge of the table. "That means I can't finish this. What a shame."

"Okay, Kevin, I think I've got it!" Kevin jumped at the sound of Arnold's voice, and twisted around to see that his friend had crept up behind him. "My résumé is finished."

"Awesome," Kevin set his chemistry homework aside and held out his hand for the sheet of paper. "Let's take a look."

Arnold handed him the paper and took a seat in the open chair next to Connor. "Kevin's helping me build a résumé," he explained. "And it was easier than I thought it was gonna be, too. I've actually done a lot of really cool stuff! I think the bookstore's gonna be really impressed, you know?" He turned back to Kevin. "So, bestie, what do you think?"

Kevin didn't respond; he merely stared at the paper with a blank expression on his face.

"Check it out, it rendered him speechless," Arnold said.

"Apparently," Connor grinned.

Kevin finally looked up at Arnold. "Seriously?" He flipped the paper over, the words _Prophet Arnold Cunningham_ boldly printed across the top of the page.

Arnold's smile widened. "You noticed, huh? I think it adds a nice touch; let the bookstore people know I'm not the average applicant."

"Oh, believe me, they'll know you're not the average candidate," Kevin said. "They're gonna think you're a damn idiot."

"What? But you told me to focus on the Uganda stuff!"

"I meant the service we did there," Kevin countered. "You know, digging wells, writing grants for medicine, those sorts of things. If you're applying for a job, it's best not to tell everyone you declared yourself the prophet of a religion you made up."

"Made up?! You always said it was helping—" Arnold stopped abruptly and narrowed his eyes. "Oh, I see what this is all about. You're just jealous because my résumé is better than yours now. I'm a prophet and you're just a lowly Eagle Scout."

"Really? Are you being serious right now? That's not what this is about."

"Uh huh. Sure. Remind me to buy you some peanut butter, 'cause you're so jelly."

"No really! I'm not—" Kevin let out an exasperated sigh and turned to Connor. "Help me out, Connor. Did you write _Prophet McKinley_ on your résumé when you applied for your job?"

Connor chuckled; he had too much fun messing with Kevin to let this go. "Of course not," he said. "I wasn't a prophet, remember? Mine said disciple."

Kevin gave him his best disapproving glare. "You're not funny," he snapped. "You think you are, but you're not."

"Come on, Kevin, I'm a server at Olive Garden. Do you honestly think they even asked to see a résumé?"

"Wait, you work at Olive Garden?" Arnold said. "No way, I knew you were a waiter, but I didn't know it was at Olive Garden! How come you never bring me any breadsticks?"

"It doesn't matter whether they asked," Kevin carried on like Arnold hadn't even spoke. "If you really cared you would have just given them a copy anyway, like I did with Starbucks."

"You're right, of course. If they'd had the pleasure of throwing that away, I'm sure I would've been promoted straight to manager."

"Guys, come on," Arnold cut in. "We've gotta talk about all the breadsticks Connor's obviously been hoarding from us."

"I'll see if I can smuggle some out for you after my next shift," Connor sighed, picking up his pen and turning back to his notebook. "And honestly, Kevin, if Arnold wants to stick prophet on his résumé, then let him do it. It shouldn't make a difference to you."

"But he's doing it _**wrong**_." Kevin probably didn't realize how whiny his voice sounded.

"You heard him," Arnold said smugly as he stood up. "Let me do my thing. And try not to be so jelly." He snatched the résumé back out of Kevin's hands and sauntered off, a little bounce in his step.

Kevin gave Connor a pointed look. "You know he's not gonna get that job."

"Yes, well, he needs to make his own mistakes."

* * *

_One Week Later_

"Check it out," Arnold tossed his new name tag onto Kevin's desk with a flair.

"Wait, what?" Kevin did a literal double-take, picking up the name tag in shock. "They actually hired you?"

"Yep! They said they liked my sense of humor. Turns out you don't know as much about résumés as you think you do, buddy."

"No way," Kevin shook his head. "You're making this up; there's no way they would have taken you seriously."

"Want me to show you my W4?" Arnold asked. "That's the tax form they make you—"

"I know what a W4 is!" Kevin exclaimed. "This is insane; only you would—how on earth did you do that?!"

"I'm just that good," Arnold said proudly. "Well, I'm off to class. See ya, buddy."

Walking out the door, Arnold grinned as he heard Kevin call out, "This was a one-time thing; don't expect it to happen again!" He supposed he _**could**_ tell Kevin he'd had a last-minute change of heart and followed his friend's advice just before turning in his application. But this was so much more fun.


	6. Weekly Prostate Exams

_**Freshman Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 6: Weekly Prostate Exams**

Though it seemed at times as if classes would never end, first semester of freshman year flew by in a rush. Before Arnold knew it, they'd plunged straight into January and the beginning of spring semester (though why they called it "spring" Arnold wasn't sure—with the biting cold it certainly didn't feel like spring was coming any time soon). This meant a new schedule to adjust to, new textbooks to buy, and a whole new pile of work to put off until the last minute. But on this Monday, with the roads iced over and classes cancelled, Arnold wasn't going to worry about any of that. For now he was content to kick back in the lounge with Kevin, Connor, Naba, and Christopher Thomas (both of whom had been visiting their friends on campus over the weekend, only to be stuck there when the snow fell).

"Want to go see a movie?" Chris asked.

"How are we going to get there?" Naba asked. "I don't want us driving in this weather."

"It's not as bad as it looks." Connor stared down at his phone with disinterest, clearly only messing with it in order to have something to do with his hands.

"Still," Naba said wrapping her blanket tighter around her. "This cold sucks. I hate winter in America."

"We could watch a movie in Kevin's and my room," Arnold suggested. "I have a ton of cool sci-fi stuff, and Kev's got like every Disney movie ever made. Or we could rent one!"

"Sounds fun." Connor sat up in interest. "That okay with you, Kevin?"

"You guys go ahead," Kevin only halted his rapid typing to flip the page of his notebook and guzzle down another long drink of coffee. "I need to finish this."

"You're still working on homework?" Arnold sighed. "Even on Extra Snow Day? That's all you ever do anymore. I told you, if you work too hard your—"

"Yeah, yeah, my skull will crack open from the pressure and my brains will fall out, I know. I really do have to get this done though, or my lab partner'll lose it. She's awful like that."

"Aww," Chris leaned forward in his seat and grinned. "Does she actually want a fair say in the project? Sucks when that happens, doesn't it?"

"Ha ha," Kevin snapped dryly. "No Poptarts, she's just a horrible person. Her name's Brynn DeMarco—" he mockingly raised his voice on her name in disgust. "And she's a cruel, rude, condescending, sorry excuse for a human being."

A surprised silence followed. "Wow," Chris said. "Tell us how you really feel."

"You said anything about this Brynn girl before," Arnold said.

"Well I haven't been working with her for long. I just met her this semester."

"She can't be that bad," Naba said. "What exactly did she do to you?"

"She…" Kevin furrowed his brow, racking his brain. "Lots of things. She's just really mean and says awful things. All the time."

"You guys," Chris laughed. "Kevin's being picked on."

Kevin huffed frustration as they all snickered. "Why don't you believe me!?"

"It's not that we don't believe you," Connor pointed out. "We just…well, we don't know if you take you seriously. You _**do**_ have a fragile ego."

"There is nothing wrong with my ego," Kevin countered.

"Aaand, there it is," Chris drawled.

"Anyone would be offended by her! And you guys are bad people too, making light of the whole thing," Kevin snapped. "All y'all would change your minds real quick if you ever met her."

He resumed his work, and the others fell into a quiet lull, until Chris broke it not twenty seconds later.

" _All y'all_ ," he mocked, giggling fiercely.

"Jerk."

* * *

_Later that Evening_

"Come on, Kevin, hurry up," Arnold bounced up and down impatiently. "I thought you said you were finished."

"Let me just review this one more time."

"It's fine! Come on, we want to watch _Back to the Future_!"

"All right, there I printed it, happy? Now we can stop by the front desk and grab it on our way up."

"Finally!" Arnold leapt up from his seat and started toward the door, bypassing the front desk and heading straight for the elevator. Kevin ignored his impatience and approached the student worker at the desk, a plain young woman whose eyes were currently glued to her computer screen.

"Hi," Kevin said, and her eyes snapped up. "I need to pick up—"

"Hey, girl!" Connor cut him off, stepping up to the desk and grinning.

"Connor!" She exclaimed, completely ignoring Kevin now. "Where've you been? You missed the last meeting and it was lame."

"I had to work," he sighed. "Hey, these are the friends from my mission I was telling you about. Everyone, this is Jami. We're in RHA together."

"Wait, you're actually in that?" Arnold asked skeptically, now tired of standing by himself at the elevator and making his way back over to the group.

"Yes, we're actually in that. It's important to be involved in your residence hall," Connor defended himself.

Jami nodded in agreement. "You should really consider joining too; I've met so many new people there."

"That's exciting, I'm happy for you," Kevin said dismissively. "Can I get my paper now?"

"Oh, right, sorry. Is it this one?" She plucked the sheets off the printer and glanced at the the cover page. "Oh hey, you're in Chem II? My roommate's in Chem II."

"Sadly, he is." Kevin stiffened at the new voice. In the midst of their conversation, no one had noticed the tiny girl that had entered the building and was now snatching the paper out of Jami's hands.

"Hi, Brynn!" Jami responded cheerfully.

"Give that back," Kevin snapped.

"What the hell is this?" Brynn DeMarco paged through the text. "Eight pages, just for your section, huh?What's that word Dr. Yanik used again? Oh, right, _**concise**_. Do you not know what that means. Kevin? Or do you just not give a shit?"

"Maybe I'm not finished editing yet."

"So you printed off a rough draft and wasted paper like an asshole?"

"Oh, like you care about the environment," Kevin huffed. "I worked hard on this paper, and it's great. Once I trim it down, it'll be downright perfect. So lay off."

Brynn sorted, her hazel eyes somehow managing to stare him down despite the prominent height difference. "Perfect, huh? Yeah I'm sure. Look, I know you think you think you're Mr. Fucking Fantastic. I'm sure you were a big deal at your backwater high school of five people, three of which were probably your cousins. And I know you've spent the past few years singing _kumbaya_ with a bunch of primitive African villagers who can barely even light a damn fire on their own much less figure out what a damn fake you are—" At this, Naba gave her a glare. "—But come on, figure your shit out. I don't care of you're used to having the whole wide world up your ass giving you weekly prostate exams. This is college, and you're average at best. Stop being a douche-canoe and step up your game. Rewrite this and bring it to class tomorrow."

She shoved the sheets of paper in his hands and started for the stairs, her boots clacking on the tile. Kevin sputtered for a second, trying to come up with a response, before he simply looked away with a mortified expression on his face.

"Hey!" Arnold called out, and Brynn stopped and spun back around. "Not cool. You're not allowed to talk about stuff being up Kevin's butt; you don't know his life!"

"Arnold!" Kevin hissed, his face bright red.

"Oh, right, sorry, bud. And by the way, those villagers knew tons of stuff! And Kevin's totally smart. He's so smart, he got into CalTech!"

Brynn raised an eyebrow. "Well, he's not _**at**_ CalTech, is he?" She said. "No surprise there."

"Johns Hopkins," Kevin said, still staring at the ground. "It wasn't CalTech, it was Johns Hopkins!"

Brynn opened the door to the stairwell and flashed him a quizzical look. "So? You're not at Johns Hopkins, either," she pointed out, before disappearing from sight.

"Wow," Connor murmured. "Guess you weren't exaggerating this time."

Kevin finally snapped his head up and faced Connor with a glare. "I told you!" He cried.

"She's actually really nice!" Jami defended. "I mean, well, she _**can**_ be…sometimes."

Kevin sighed and leaned against the desk, burying his head in his arms on the countertop. "I don't know what to do," he said.

"You could step on her," Naba said. When Kevin raised his head a few centimeters, skepticism evident in his one visible eye, she continued, "I'm just saying, the bitch is tiny."

"I like her," said Chris. "What?" He added when the others gave him incredulous looks. "She seems to know what she wants in life, and that's a good trait to have."

At that, Connor frowned and shrugged. "It actually is a really good trait," he conceded, while Jami nodded vigorously and added, "She's definitely a go-getter."

"Seriously?" Kevin wailed. "Okay, sure. This girl is making my life a living hell, but it's okay because _**she knows what she wants in life**_. You guys are terrible people." He straightened up and gathered all his papers. "I'm not letting any of you watch TV in my room."

"Not even me?!" Arnold asked.

"No."

"But Naba and I didn't even do anything!"

"I don't care—well, no, you're right. Okay," Kevin relented as he started from the stairwell. "You two can come. But not you, Chris. Or you, Connor. I'm mad at you both. And not you, either." He shot Jami a dirty look.

"Um," Jami began as she shifted in her seat. "I wasn't going to? I barely know you, and I'm stuck here for the next two hours."

Kevin stopped by the door to the stairwell and did a double-take, clearly not expecting her to actually respond. "Well…good, because I didn't want you there!" With that, he swung open the door hurried through, letting it shut abruptly behind him.

"Well, guess we better go," Arnold said. "Bye, you guys."

"Not yet," Naba stopped him. "Give him a minute. He's had a rough day; he needs a time-out."


	7. Get That Dog a Burrito

_**Freshman Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 7: Get That Dog a Burrito**

"It's here!" Arnold threw his notebook in the air as he and Kevin exited the science building, their last classes of the week finally complete. "Our first college spring break! Man it's gonna be insane."

"The semester's only halfway over," Kevin remarked. "So you probably still need those notes."

"Oh," Arnold turned around, watching several papers scatter to the ground around the fallen notebook. "Right. Help me pick them up, will you?"

Once the papers had all been retrieved and were safely tucked back in the notebook, they resumed their trek back to the residence hall. "But yeah, this is gonna be totally awesome!" Arnold continued. "You're staying on campus too, right?"

"Of course. My parents make me see them enough as it is."

"Yeah, me too. Naba's gonna stay with us some, too. That okay?"

"Sure, that's fine."

"Cool! So, what are we gonna do? We have to go totally crazy; that's what you're supposed to do on spring break."

"Oh, I plan to," Kevin brightened in anticipation. "Midterms killed me, and I can't wait to catch up on sleep. Get this: tomorrow, I'm gonna sleep in until noon!"

Arnold paused. "Oh, really?"

"Crazy, isn't it? I've never slept in that late. But hey, new experiences, right?"

"Um, sure, yeah. Good for you. But that's not what I meant, buddy. I was thinking we could go to a club."

"What?" Kevin stopped and turned around. "Why would we go to a club?"

"Because it's spring break! New experiences, letting loose! We're twenty-one, it's no problem."

"I don't drink, Arnold."

"You did that one time in Uganda."

"Yeah, that didn't work out so well."

"Why?" Arnold tilted his head innocently, feigning ignorance. "What happened?"

"Um, well, I…" Kevin floundered. "Nothing, really, you were there! I sang karaoke with the general and felt really sick afterward, remember?"

"Okay, so don't drink so much this time. C'mon, I really want to go. Please, best friend? I want to wear my party clothes!"

"You have party clothes?"

"You're darn right I have party clothes!"

Kevin sighed. "Fine, but not for long. And we'll go tomorrow, not tonight. I'm tired."

* * *

_The Next Evening_

"Check out my party clothes!" Arnold singsonged, stepping into his and Kevin's room with a hop and doing a little belly jiggle. "Ready to go, bestie?"

Kevin dug around in his desk drawer for his keys. "In a minute, just let me…" He drifted off when he looked up, fully taking in Arnold's powder blue suit, ruffled white collar, and turquoise crocs. "Oh dear lord, is that really what you're wearing?"

"What? It's my party clothes!" Arnold surveyed himself in the mirror. "My mom bought me this for special occasions. It comes with a tie, but I feel like going casual this evening, you know?"

"Are those _**crocs**_?"

"Yep. Comfy _**and**_ stylish."

"Arnold," Kevin paused, trying to figure out how to best word his thoughts. "Are you sure you want to wear that? Really, _**truly**_ sure?"

"Um, yeah, duh, or I wouldn't have put it on. What are you doing? You don't see me drilling you on your boring polo."

"I'm just…well, I'm not sure that's appropriate for a club. Or bar, or wherever we're going."

"How do you know? You've never been to a club. Relax, it's gonna be fine! Now come on, we need to get Naba and Connor so we can go!"

Kevin didn't move, still staring at the outfit and frowning. "Can you at least get rid of the crocs?" he pleaded.

"You know, I think it's kind of rude that you don't appreciate my fashion choices. But I'm gonna let it slide, 'cause I really want to go. Now come on, no more talk about the party clothes, unless it's to say how awesome they are."

"But there's never a good reason for crocs."

"No more talk about the party clothes, Kevin!"

* * *

"I still can't believe you and Kevin agreed to go to a club," Naba giggled, curiously flipping through Connor's planner.

"Are you saying I don't know how to have a good time?" Connor straightened his vest in the mirror.

"I just didn't think clubs and bars were your version of fun."

"They're not, really." He ran a comb through his hair one more time. "But who knows? I might turn out to be a great little alcoholic."

Naba opened her mouth to respond, but then a knock sounded on the door and she promptly lost interest. She leapt up from her seat on the bed and opened the door.

"Hi, you two," she said to Kevin and Arnold. "I think we're ready to—Arnold, what the hell are you wearing!?"

"You like? These are my party clothes!"

"Connor," she hissed, spinning back around and approaching the former district leader. "Do something."

"Oh, I'm sure it's fine. There's no reason to…" He turned to assess Arnold's outfit, and the rest of his sentence was forever lost as he fell onto his bed in a fit of laughter.

"I can't believe you let him leave the room like this!" Naba snapped, scowling at Kevin.

"It's not my fault," Kevin defended. "He's _**your**_ boyfriend."

"Still though, maybe you should have—shut up, Connor, it isn't that funny! Arnold, go back upstairs and change right now."

"What? No! Why doesn't anyone like my party clothes?"

"I like them, Arnold," Connor said in between snorts of laughter. "They're so…so very…well, you."

"Thanks, Connor. I'm not changing."

"Can't he just wear the suit so we can get this over with?" said Kevin. "I don't want to stand here arguing forever."

"Fine," Naba grumbled. "Look like an idiot, what do I care? Let's go."

* * *

"Check it out!" Arnold said as they stepped into the club, blaring music assaulting their ears upon entrance. "Told you this would be fun!"

"What?" Kevin shouted, squinting in the dark.

"I said I told you this would be fun! C'mon, let's go get drinks!"

They made their way to bar, where the bartender scanned his eyes up and down Arnold's outfit before idly shrugging. "What d'you want?"

"Um…" Kevin glanced upwards in search of a menu. When he found nothing but the names of several concoctions he didn't recognize, he looked back at the bartender helplessly.

"Yes, we'd like some alcohol, please," Arnold finished.

"You want alcohol," the bartender deadpanned, eyes flickering down to their wrists in search of the proper wristbands.

Connor sighed and stepped forward. "They want long islands," he said. "That is a thing, right?" he quickly double-checked.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's a thing."

"Great, then I want one as well. Thanks!"

Naba stepped forward and smiled sweetly. "What are your specials?" She asked.

The bartender simply gestured down at her _under 21_ wristband, bright pink as opposed the others' yellow ones. "No way, cutie. Nice try, though."

"Ugh, fine. I'll have a coke, then."

Once they had their drinks in hand, Kevin eyed his in distaste. "Pretty sure I remember alcohol being really gross," he said. "How much did this cost? Isn't liquor expensive?"

"Don't think about the price," Arnold said, then he chuckled. "Hah! Price! Get it? Because of your name? And because, y'know, I said not—"

"Yeah. I got it."

"Awesome. Okay best friend, we both take drinks on the count of three."

"I don't know…" Kevin stared at the glass in apprehension.

"You probably won't get drunk off of one, Kevin," Connor said. Then, when a drunken patron knocked over a chair a few tables over and Arnold and Naba turned toward the sound, he forward and whispered in Kevin's ear, "And there's not gonna be a repeat of last time, so stop worrying about that."

Kevin's face reddened. "I wasn't thinking about that," he lied.

"You guys!" Arnold cut in. "We've had these forever and haven't taken drinks. On the count of three. One, two, three!"

Arnold and Kevin both squeezed their eyes shut, braced themselves, and took small, anticlimactic sips through their straws. "Hey," Kevin said. "That wasn't so bad. It's actually pretty good!"

"I know," Arnold said. "It's sweet. I didn't think it would be sweet. What do you think, Connor?"

When Connor didn't respond, the other three looked at him questioningly—only to find him still sipping through his straw, the glass in his hand already almost empty. "What?" he asked as the others continued to stare.

"Nothing," Arnold said quickly. "Glad you like it. I'm gonna go drink and dance. Come on, bestie, time to put these party clothes to work!" He grabbed Kevin's arm and pulled him in the direction of the dance floor. "You too, Naba! And you, Connor!"

"We're not going with them," Naba said simply as she and Conner took a seat at the nearest empty table. When Arnold leapt put into the middle of the floor and began showing off his best dance moves, squeezing in between a grinding couple in the process, she winced and added, "In fact, let's just pretend we don't know him."

"You love him," Connor teased.

In the dim light, he could barely make out her blush. "Well you love Kevin, so there."

Connor sighed and finished off the last of his drink. "Yes, well, the difference is that you and Arnold are happily together and Kevin and I are never, ever going to happen."

"Maybe you should find someone else," Naba suggested. "Have you tried dating anybody?"

"Naba, I'm a gay man in the middle of small-town Utah. I don't exactly have that many prospects."

"You are being too pessimistic," she countered. "You're smart, kind, funny, and handsome. Any gay man would be an idiot not to want you."

Connor smiled. "You're such a sweetheart," he said. "But honestly, I'm not sure I want to date anyone right now. It just doesn't feel right."

"Because of Kevin? Forget about him. You can't sit around waiting forever."

Connor's eyes traveled in the direction of the dance floor, where Kevin stood awkwardly off to the side sipping his drink while Arnold danced. Naba had a point. How many times had he told himself to move on? Honestly, sometimes he didn't even know what he saw in Kevin. He was stubborn, self-involved, overly competitive, and somehow managed to be obnoxiously mature and completely childish at the same time. But then, he was also caring, driven, gorgeous, and had so much heart—

No. That was enough. He wasn't going to waste anymore time thinking about it. "You know what?" he said. "I'm gonna need another drink."

* * *

Kevin wasn't really sure how it got to this point. Really, after he finished his drink, he planned to just sit back and wait for Arnold to tire himself out. But then Arnold pointed out that they had other flavors of Long Islands ("Look, cherry limeade! You like cherries, and you like limeades, it's perfect!"), and after his second drink those two people a couple seats down just seemed _**so**_ nice he just _**had**_ to talk to them, and apparently they really liked him too, because they—obviously drunk themselves—kept laughing at everything he said and handing him one drink after another. He didn't _**think**_ he was being that funny, but hey, they were having a good time and the drinks they gave him were tasty, so that was all that mattered.

"You guys," he said, staring down at his watch in confusion. "It is _**way**_ past my bedtime. No, I'm serious, you guys!" he protested when they laughed. "I mean, sometimes I have to stay up late for papers now, but when I was in my mission, we had…uh…we had, um…rules! Yeah, tons of rules. At my house, too. My parents made us go to bed at 9 every school night. On weekends we could stay up until ten, and on New Years we get to stay up until midnight and that's really hard to do! Have you ever tried to do that?" He ignored their chuckles and added, "One time when I was little, I fell asleep before midnight, and when I woke up the next morning I cried."

"Sad day," the girl said, and Kevin wondered if the left side of her hair actually was longer than the right side, or if he'd just officially lost control of his focus.

He solemnly nodded. "It was," he said. "It was a really sad day. Hey, hey, do either of you have dogs? Can I see pictures of them?"

"Sure," the guy fiddled with his phone for a minute before holding it out so Kevin could see the screen. Kevin leaned forward and squinted.

"He's so skinny!" He snapped. "What is wrong with you?"

"No worries, man, he's a greyhound."

"He needs to eat more! Feed him some burritos!"

"Nah, he only gets Purina. Wanna try some shots?"

"Oh, yeah, I saw someone get shot once! That was a sad day, too."

"Dude, no," Hair Girl looked at him in alarm. "Shots. Mini drinks. Double the alcohol. No one dies."

"Oh, well," he tried to focus in on the assortment of empty glasses on the table. "I'm not supposed to drink much tonight."

"Why not?"

"Ummm," Kevin scrunched his forehead in thought. "Because…well…there _**was**_ a reason…" he finally looked up at the two pairs of eyes trained on him expectantly. "I can't remember."

"So," Greyhound Guy said after draining the last of his vodka cranberry. "Shots?"

"Okay!" Kevin grinned. "Yay!"

* * *

Connor swiftly downed the Irish car bomb in front of him and slammed the empty glass onto the table, the smaller shot rattling inside. "See?" He said triumphantly. "Told you I make a good alcoholic! Ugh, that was bitter _**and**_ offensive. I want another one."

Naba giggled. "If someone had told me two years ago that I'd be spending time with you mission boys at an American bar—"

"You would have _**totally**_ seen it coming, right?"

"Naba! Connor!" Arnold panted his way over, and Connor internally cringed at the prominent sweat stains all over his suit. "You gotta dance! C'mon, it's fun."

"I'm okay here," Naba said. "You go on and have fun, though."

"Aw, come on!" He said. "What about you, Connor? You love dancing."

Naba smiled mischievously. "Yes, Connor, you love dancing," she said. "Maybe after a couple more of those Irish things you'll even give us a show on the pole."

"Wait, there's a pole?" Connor said. "I'll do it now if you pay for all these drinks I've had."

"Hey, guys," Arnold looked around and frowned. "Where's Kevin?"

"Wasn't he with you?" Naba said.

"He was, but then he came back up here with you, didn't he?"

Connor shook his head. "We haven't seen him."

"Uh, oh," Arnold said. He turned around and bellowed out, at the top of his lungs. "KEVIN! BUDDY, WHERE YOU AT?!"

"You talking about the stiff in the polo?" The bartender asked. "He left with Mindy and Will."

"With who?" Connor asked, and the bartender simply shrugged.

"Mindy and Will," he repeated. "Weird-ass couple who come in every Saturday and get a bunch of vodka cranberries, and then go see Bianca Royale at the gay bar. That's probably where they are now."

"Shit," Naba sighed. "We have to find this gay bar." She and Arnold turned to Connor expectantly.

"What? How the hell am I supposed to know where it is?" he snapped.

"Because, well, because you're gay," Arnold replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"So? I've never been there." He scowled and whipped out his phone. There couldn't possibly be that many gay bars in Ogden. "Okay," he said after retrieving his search results. "Let's go."

"See? I knew you'd be able to find it!"

"Yes, Arnold, I just had to check the weekly email from the listserv all gay people are automatically subscribed to—Oh, damn it," he winced as the bartender brought over his check and he saw the total. Well, there went a good chunk of tomorrow's tips. He grudgingly slapped some money down on the table, and then they started for the exit. "Check out that suit!" A man called on their way out.

"Yeah, it's my party clothes!" Arnold replied.

"Nice!"

Arnold gave Naba a smug look. "Seems like people appreciate my suit after all," he said.

* * *

"You sure this is it?" Arnold asked as the three of them stood on the sidewalk staring at the sketchy bar front.

"That's what Google says," Connor replied.

"Think Kev would go to a place like this?"

Naba stepped forward and swung open the door. "They probably told him it was Disney World and his drunk ass believed them."

Ears still ringing from the last place, the music blaring inside made Connor and Naba wince. "See him anywhere?" Connor called, and they all did their best to scan the crowds of people clustered at the bar and around the platform stage, where a drag queen in a glittery red dress and 8-inch heels signaled to the DJ to cut the music.

"Okay, boys and girls," she boomed. "This is Bianca Royale, cutting you hoes off and telling you to shut your mouths, because we've got a birthday in here tonight!" Random cheers sounded in the audience, and she continued. "That's right, little miss Brittany's all grown up and 21 today! Get your ass up here, girl! Any other birthdays in the house?"

"ME!" Arnold, Connor, and Naba all whipped their heads around at the sound of Kevin's voice, watching in horror as he stumbled his way up to the stage. "It's my birthday, you guys!" He snorted in laughter, and half his drink spilled onto the stage. "I'm nineteen today, NINETEEN!"

"It's not his birthday," Arnold said.

"Nope." Connor leaned back against the bar, arms crossed.

"It's not even his birth month!"

"Should we go get him?" Naba asked, and Connor shrugged in nonchalance.

"Doesn't really matter. Management'll do it for us if he keeps screaming about being nineteen."

"I'm Kevin, and I'm so honored to be here, with you guys, today," Kevin continued, his words slow and deliberate. "On my birthday…today!"

"Well how about that, looks like we've got two birthdays going on today," Bianca Royale bellowed over him. "Let's hear it for Brittany and—"

"Isn't is incredible?! Nineteen!"

"Bitch you ain't nineteen; sit your ass down!" Bianca snapped. At this, Naba and Arnold turned to Connor, and he sighed.

"Fine, let's go get him," he said, and Arnold hurried toward the stage.

"But it's my birthday," Kevin was saying. "You can't yell at me on my birthday! Wow, a day all about me. In my life, the years I've lived, is nineteen. Wowie."

"Kevin!" Arnold called. "C'mon, buddy, get off the stage. It's time to go."

"Arnie!" Kevin exclaimed gleefully. "But I'm not tired yet."

"Um, yeah, I know." Arnold thought quickly. "That's why we're going to Orlando."

"ORLANDO!" Kevin leapt off the stage, stumbling into Arnold's arms. "Yay! Bye, Greyhound Guy! Bye, Hair Girl! Bye, Mrs. Royale! Time to go to Sea World! Yay, Orlando; I'm so, so, so happy!"

Arnold pulled Kevin back toward Naba and Connor in the back. "Okay, let's go," he said.

"Hey, hey, you know what we should do after Orlando?" Kevin slurred. "Let's go to the Bermuda Triangle! It's a land full of adventure, and there's a lot to do there."

"Sure thing, Kevin," Arnold said. "Don't worry guys, he'll be passed out by the time we get home."

* * *

_The Next Morning_

"How are you feeling, buddy?" Arnold asked when Kevin finally cracked his bloodshot eyes open at 12:35 pm, his face pale and his hair sticking up in every direction.

"Tylenol," he croaked, struggling to sit up. "I need Tylenol."

"You look like crap," Arnold laughed, grabbing the bottle of medicine off Kevin's desk.

"Gee, thanks. So…" Kevin furrowed his brow as he tried to think. "What the heck happened last night?"

"What do you remember?"

"Um…drinks. Lots of drinks. And, let's see…a picture of dog…a tall, sparkly lady yelling at me…did I do something stupid?"

Arnold took a seat across from Kevin and shrugged. "Nothing too crazy, I guess. You went to the gay bar with a couple of strangers—"

"There's a gay bar in Ogden?"

"Yeah, who knew? Then you started yelling to the drag queen about how it was your birthday, and then we brought you back and you threw up in the parking lot. Which was gross, but we were just glad you got out of Connor's car first."

Kevin made a move to sit up and then quickly winced and flopped back down on his pillow. "I'm never drinking again," he grumbled as he clutched his forehead. "Would it be bad if I just stayed in bed the whole afternoon? I really don't—hey, wait, did you tell me we were going to Orlando?"

"Oh, uh," Arnold squirmed. "You remember that?"

"You jerk, I was really excited!"

"Well, you weren't supposed to remember it! You also said we should go to the Bermuda Triangle, but I don't see you complaining about not getting to go there."

"You can't just tell me we're going to Orlando and then not take me there, Arnold!"

* * *

Meanwhile, outside in the hallway Naba approached Kevin and Arnold's door and raised her hand to knock, but paused when she heard the voices inside.

"How on Earth was I gonna take you to Orlando?!" Arnold was saying.

"I don't know; why'd you even bring it up?"

"What was I supposed to do? You were carrying on about being nineteen, which was rude 'cause, you know, it actually was that other girl's birthday and you stole her thunder! Thunder thief!"

"I thought I was gonna get to see the Disney castle again!"

"You were drunk! We drove past the Ogden temple and you thought we were already there! And it wasn't even the big Salt Lake one!"

Naba simply shook her head and turned back around. "I'll come back later," she murmured under her breath.


	8. No One Shares Their Pumpkin Pie

_**Freshman Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 8: No One Shares Their Pumpkin Pie**

"Ugh, I can't focus," Kevin thunked his head down onto his Calc III practice problem set. "I'm sick of homework."

"Then quit working," Arnold said, staring intently at the game on his laptop. "It's spring break."

"I kind of have to, though. My jerk professor scheduled our test for the first class after break." Even so, Kevin closed his notebook and set the work aside for now. "What are you playing?" he asked.

" _Minecraft_."

"Again? You play that a lot."

"It's fun!"

Kevin rose from his desk chair and took a seat next to Arnold on his bed. "Can I play?"

"Really?" Arnold looked up and gave Kevin a quizzical look. "You want to play a computer game?"

Kevin shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"I thought you didn't like games."

"I haven't really played them much. My brother Andy has an Xbox and we play this racecar one sometimes, but that's about it. But hey, you seem to be having fun. So, can you teach me how to play it?"

"Um, okay, sure," Arnold said uncertainly, but then he brightened. "Yeah! Yeah, it'll be fun!"

It had taken awhile for Kevin to get all the controls down, but finally he was ready to go. "Okay, buddy," Arnold said. "Go ahead and move forward. Here, use my mouse."

"I don't need a mouse," Kevin said, his fingers hovering over the trackpad.

"Trust me, you're gonna want the mouse. It's easier, especially on that dumb old MacBook."

"Hey, I like my old MacBook. I've never needed a mouse before."

"Well, you've never played _Minecraft_ before. Just take the mouse."

"Okay," Kevin relented, plugging it into his computer. "So what do I do now?"

"Whatever you want, pal. That's the whole point of _Minecraft_ : to do whatever you want."

Kevin stared at him in disbelief. "That's it?" he asked. "I don't understand. Where's the objective? I want to win; how do I win?"

"Well there's not a lot of winning involved, unless you join a different server. But I don't think you're ready for that. Why don't you just make your own objective?"

"I can't make my own objective; I don't know what to do. There's no purpose!"

"Okay, here, first things first: you've gotta build a fortress. Then you can look for lootsie-doodles."

"Look for what?"

"Lootsie-doodles!"

"I heard you. What the heck are lootsie-doodles?" Kevin felt dumb just saying it.

"That's what some people call 'em. They're anything you can collect by exploring or stealing from someone else. You know, after you kill them."

"I'm not killing anyone and taking their stuff! That's wrong."

"Seriously?" Arnold said. "Wow. Lame."

"I know it's a game, but my character still has principles, Arn."

"Okay, okay, you can just get them by exploring. So then, time to build a fortress. You need wood for that, right? Well, there's a tree right there."

"I don't have an axe. Do I need to find one?"

"Nope. Just gotta punch it."

"Are you serious?" Kevin gave him a doubtful look. "You punch the trees? What the heck is wrong with this game? You're just saying that so I'll look stupid trying, aren't you?"

"No, I mean it. But oh, man, I should've thought of that. I could've have made you look so dumb!"

Kevin doubted Arnold could have come up with anything dumber than the things he already had to do, but he kept quiet and simply hit the tree. Sure enough, his character received a single wood block.

"Awesome," Arnold said. "So now you're gonna—oh, look, a pumpkin pie! Pick it up; your first lootsie-doodle."

"Really? Cool." Kevin grabbed it and then headed toward another player in the distance.

"Buddy, what are you doing? You can't kill him; you don't have any weapons yet."

"I told you, I'm not killing anyone. I'm gonna share my pumpkin pie."

"Wait, for real? No, Kev, we don't share our food in this game. I don't even know if you have the option."

"Why not? I can't eat a whole pie by myself."

"You can in the game. Turn around before he sees you…Kevin, seriously, turn around…for real, right now or—okay, look, now he just killed you and ate your pie."

"Really?" Kevin blinked at the screen in surprise. "Well, that was uncalled for. Did he know I was gonna share it?"

"Probably not, because no one shares their pumpkin pie."

"Well, no one eats a whole darn pie, either. Besides, pumpkin pie is the iconic Thanksgiving dessert, and Thanksgiving is all about being grateful for what you have and sharing it with others."

"Actually, my history teacher said that Thanksgiving was all about the pilgrims taking the natives' food and land and then killing them all. Which is super rude, and exactly what you're supposed to do in this game." At Kevin's dumbfounded expression, Arnold smirked. "Oh, did they not teach you that in your watered-down dual credit history class? Looks like I know more than you. Boom."

"Well, okay, fine, but that's not what Thanksgiving means _**now**_."

"Still doesn't mean people on the Internet share their food."

"All right, fine," Kevin said shortly. "Next Thanksgiving, I'm gonna make a pumpkin pie and refuse to share with anyone. I'll just eat it myself, and then let's see if you feel the same way."

Arnold met his gaze and bit back his grin as he responded. "You do that and I'll kill you and take your pumpkin pie for myself. Just like in _Minecraft_."

Kevin pursed his lips and turned back to the screen. "I can't handle this game," he said as he shoved the computer off to the side. "I'm watching _Finding Nemo_ instead."


	9. Science in My Pants

"Hi there! Welcome to Starbucks." Kevin gave the customer in front of him his brightest smile. "What can I get you?"

"Yeah, can I get a grande thin mint frappuccino?" she asked.

Inwardly, Kevin sighed. "I'm sorry, we don't have that on our menu," he recited. "But if you tell me what's in it then I can still make it for you."

"No, it's on your secret menu," she insisted. "I saw it on Pinterest."

"They don't teach us how to make anything that isn't on the actual menu. Do you have the recipe?"

"Why would I have the recipe? You're the one who works here."

Now Kevin's smile was starting to falter. "If you really want it, I guess I can try and wing it." It couldn't be that tricky, after all. Probably just a green tea frap with mocha and peppermint.

The girl rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'll just have a vanilla bean frappuccino," she said.

"Great," Kevin said, his teeth gritted behind the smile he was now forcing himself to keep in place. "Can I get your name?"

"Sarah."

Kevin totaled her up, swiped her card, and then, as large and grotesquely as he could manage, scribbled _Cerrruh_ across the front of her cup in bold black ink. "Here you go," he said once the drink was prepared. "Have a fantastic day."

Sarah took one glance at the cup, have him a fierce glare, and simply went on her way.

"Yo." Kevin scowled as he heard the all-too familiar voice of Brynn DeMarco. He looked over to see her standing at the side of the Starbucks counter, tapping her nails against the wood.

"What do you want?" he snapped. "I'm busy."

"Yeah, yeah, the caffeine intake of the whole school rests in your hands, I'm aware," she sighed. "Your half of the thermodynamics write-up. I don't like it; it doesn't mesh with mine."

"I agree," Kevin said. "So change yours. There's nothing wrong with mine."

"Oh, really?" she raised an eyebrow. "Remember our last write-up? Which section had more red marks, again? I'll give you a hint; it wasn't mine."

"Are you going to buy something or not?"

She stared at him for one long moment, the corners of her mouth curling upward in a small, condescending smile. "Tall Pike roast," she said.

"Any milk or cream?" he asked automatically.

"Nope."

"So bitter and scalding, then? Just like you?"

"Oh, you're getting clever, aren't you?."

He ignored her comment, scrawling across the cup and turning toward the coffee maker. When he secured the lid and set it on the counter, Brynn picked it up and frowned.

"Becky?" she read. "Really, is that the best you've got? Not bitch? Hell spawn? Satan's whore?"

"We're not allowed to write profanity," Kevin replied. "Also, I gave you decaf. Deal with it."

"Aww, how cute. Look at you, the badass little barista with zero fucks to give."

"Whatever. Are you ever gonna pay for that?"

"For my worthless decaf coffee? Depends, are you ever gonna ring it up?"

* * *

Connor and Jami stood several yards away from the Starbucks counter, watching Kevin and Brynn bicker. "Are they always like this?" Connor asked.

"They don't even see that we're here," Jami added.

"Right, and Kevin's not paying attention to the other customers. If he gets fired, I don't want to hear him complain."

"I wonder if she secretly likes him."

"Really?" Connor blinked doubtfully. "Is that how she shows affection? How old is she, twelve?"

"Just a thought," she said, shrugging. "You know, they actually have a lot in common."

Connor looked over at her in surprise. "Really? You think so?"

"Well, yeah, they're both overachievers. And they both think they're smarter than everyone else. And neither one originally wanted to go to school here."

"Where did Brynn plan on going? I know Kevin's always carrying on about Georgetown, but I've never—"

"I thought he wanted to go to Bowdoin."

"No, pretty sure it was Georgetown—wait, what the heck is Bowdoin?"

"You know, Bowdoin College?"

"Never heard of it. You sure you're not making it up?"

"No, why would I make up a college?"

Connor grinned. "Okay, where's it at?"

"It's…" she paused. "I don't know. I just know it exists. And to answer your question," she said, digging through her bag for her phone. "Brynn wanted to go to University of Southern California. But then her dad died so she stayed closer to home for her mom."

"That's a shame."

"It is. And Bowdoin College is in Maine, asshole."

"Did you just now Google that?"

"Yep." She looked back up at Kevin and Brynn, lips pursed in thought. "We have to do something about those two. I'm tired of hearing them bitch about each other all day."

"What're we supposed to do?"

"Hmm," Jami chewed her bottom lip as she watched the two. "You free for dinner tonight?"

Connor shook his head, "I work at four."

"Damn. Looks like we're going to Olive Garden, then."

* * *

_Later That Evening_

"This is fun!" Arnold said. "Check it out: all of us here, together, for a group dinner! How come we didn't do this sooner?"

"Because Connor's always working," Naba replied, gesturing over to where Connor stood two tables down, refilling an elderly couple's water glasses.

"Tell me about it. Doesn't he know college is for having fun?"

"He needs the money," Kevin answered, his eyes glued to his phone.

"Oh, yeah right! Man, I feel so bad for him. Has he heard anything from his parents at all?"

Chris shook his head. "Nope. Nothing."

"Wait," Jami asked in confusion. "What are you talking about? Connor doesn't talk to his parents?"

"They cut him off after he came out," Chris replied. "It happened while we were in Uganda. He sent them a letter, they told him never to contact him again, and that was it. He's talked to his sisters a couple times, but not much. They're scared his folks'll get mad."

"Wow," Jami absentmindedly gripped her napkin. "He never mentioned that. How awful."

"Yeah, it totally sucks," Arnold said. "Don't say anything, though, he hates it when people bring it—Kevin, is that Canvas? Are you on Canvas?"

Kevin quickly hit the home button. "No," he lied. "I'm sending a text."

"Liar, that was Canvas, I saw it! What did I tell you about doing homework when we're having a fun time?"

"It's not my fault!" Kevin protested. "We had to post in a discussion board, and I just know Brynn's gonna shoot down everything I said. I have to comment back right away or people will think she won."

"Kevin, it's Friday," Naba said. "No one will be checking that tonight."

"Some people might," Chris countered. "They're all a bunch of pre-meds with no lives, remember?"

"Exactly!" Kevin said. "I have to be ready." He stared down at the screen, brow furrowed and eyes focused.

Arnold extended his hand. "Give me the phone, Kev."

"No."

"Give me the cheap plastic iPhone, Kevin."

"Hey," Kevin defensively pulled his white 5c out of Arnold's reach. "There's nothing wrong with my phone. My family has seven lines, we can't all buy huge fancy gold ones like yours."

"Sorry I'm late." Kevin's eyes widened in horror at the sound of the new voice, and he looked up to see Brynn standing by their table, unbuttoning her coat. "Some asshole held me up at the…" she drifted off when she saw Kevin, then swiftly snatched her purse back up. "No. No way in hell," she snapped.

"Brynn, sit down," Jami said.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You didn't tell me _**he**_ would be here."

"Seriously, why the heck is _**she**_ here?" Kevin added, standing up. "If she stays, then I'm gone."

"Neither one of you are going anywhere," Naba replied firmly. "Now both of you, sit your asses down and shut the hell up."

They both slowly took their seats, glaring at each other the whole time.

"Hello, Brynn," Connor chirped as he swiftly made his way over to their table, pen and notepad in hand. "All right, what can I get y'all?"

Kevin stared at him in suspicion. "You waited until she arrived to come over here," he said slowly. "You knew she was coming. You all knew she was coming, and no one warned me."

"That's right, now what do you want to eat?"

Kevin snatched up the menu, took one look at it, and then slapped it back down and fixed Connor with his best death glare. "I want the parmesan shrimp with bowtie pasta instead of ziti, alfredo sauce instead of parmesan but still with the rest of the parmesean stuff, add mushrooms—diced not sliced—and add fresh spinach, finely chopped into really small pieces. Also, only use about three-fourths of the sauce you normally use, and add a dash of melted butter. Have fun with that, jerk."

Connor didn't even bother to write that down. "You're getting the spaghetti," he snapped.

"But I don't want the spaghetti," Kevin countered.

"Well, I don't want to be waiting on your ass, but sometimes life just sucks, doesn't it? What about you, Brynn?"

"Depends." She flipped idly through the menu. "What do you have that isn't pre-packaged and frozen?"

Connor's brow furrowed. "Looks like you're both getting the spaghetti."

"No thanks, I'll take the lasagna. I don't want what _**he's**_ having."

Connor smiled and shook his head at that and moved on to the next person. Once he had everyone's orders, Kevin told him, "Don't expect a tip from me."

"Like you were gonna give me one, anyway," Connor replied, spinning on his heel and starting for the kitchen. When he was gone, Jami cleared her throat.

"Okay, the reason we're all here today is because, Kevin and Brynn, you both mean a lot to us and we all care about—"

"Skip the cheesy intervention intro and cut to the chase," said Brynn.

"Fine. We're all trying to have a good time here and your bickering's getting old. Now both of you move past it or find a new set of friends."

"Wait, you're threatening to kick me out? But I did nothing wrong!" Kevin said.

"What do you mean you did nothing wrong?" Brynn asked. "You're the cause of all this."

"Excuse me, I'm not the one constantly insulting everyone around me. What's wrong with you, anyway? You've been rude to me since the day we met; what did I ever do to you?"

"What did you ever do to me? I don't know, maybe it's your constant sub-par academic performance, maybe it's your whiny little bitch voice or your sick fascination with children's theme parks or that horrifying smile you always have plastered over your face. Hell, maybe it's all of those things. Who knows?" she shrugged and took a sip of her water.

"People _**love**_ my smile," Kevin protested. "My dentist says I have a face made for Crest advertising."

"Honey, you look like you just came from a botched colonoscopy and the camera got lost up in there."

"Oh really?" Kevin's voice was borderline shrilly now. "See, see, is what I'm talking about! You say these things—make these weird comparisons—and, and I don't even know what they mean! What _**was**_ that, what are you saying?"

"Okay, okay, calm down," Jami cut in. "Brynn, don't you think you're being a little too hard on Kevin?"

"She is!" Kevin said. "She's been a condescending know-it-all since the minute we started working together."

"I don't know," Chris added. "I've worked with you before, Kevin. I have a hard time believing you _**both**_ weren't condescending know-it-alls."

"Not helping, Poptarts," Jami said. "By the way, why do everyone call you Poptarts, exactly?"

"Because I like Poptarts."

"Oh, hey, that makes sense."

"Back to the subject," Naba said after swallowing a bite of her salad. "Kevin, Brynn, I think you both could be more polite to each other. The purpose of this dinner was to put aside your differences and move on."

"I am not moving on," Kevin snapped. "She insulted my smile and I hate her. _**And**_ ," he turned to Brynn and scowled. "I'm tired of you calling me stupid. I was valedictorian of my class. I got a 34 on the ACT. I became an Eagle Scout before anyone else in my grade, and I even took on the hardest project. I built a dog park! Everyone else just put up benches and easy crap like that. And that's not even counting all the great ideas I had in Uganda."

"Like converting the General all on your own?" Chris asked.

"No, not like converting the General all on my own, Poptarts," Kevin sneered. "Like the well and the medicine grant. Everyone says the grant was Connor's idea, but we came up with it together, I swear."

Before Brynn could respond, Connor appeared with their plates. "Dinner's served," he said cheerfully. "Lasagna for Brynn, fettuccini alfredo for Jami, shrimp talapia for Poptarts, Naba's ravioli portobello, five-cheese ziti for Arnold, and for Kevin, parmesan shrimp with three-fourths alfredo, bowtie pasta, add diced mushrooms, diced spinach, and butter. That's right, I remembered the whole thing. It's cute you think that's the most complicated order I've ever had. Now eat every damn bite." He looked up at the rest of the table and added, "Let me know if you all need anything else!"

"He's a genius," Arnold said in awe as Connor went on his way. "I want to _**be**_ him."

"Brynn, I'm just going to come right out and say it," Jami stated. "Do you think it's possible you have a tiny crush on Kevin?"

Realization dawned on Kevin's face, and he glanced over at Brynn smugly. For a moment, Brynn simply looked at Jami in confusion. Then she laughed.

"Jami, come on, that's fucking crazy," she said. "There's no way I'd be into Kevin; I'm not even convinced he has anything down there. I'm willing to bet if he drops his basic-ass khakis, there's nothing but a gaping black hole that sucks your soul out like a dementor and transports it straight to church."

The smug look promptly fell off of Kevin's face, and he willed the redness forming in his cheeks to disappear. "I do not have a black hole in my pants," he said. It was only when the words were out of his mouth that he realized how stupid they sounded.

"Yeah, come on, get real," Arnold added. "Black holes don't necessarily transport things; haven't you ever seen _Stargate_? You're thinking of a wormhole. Kevin's got a wormhole in his pants."

"Stop talking about my anatomy!" Kevin shrieked, and he pointedly ignored the elderly couple with their grandkids giving him dirty looks two tables over. "You know what, Brynn? Since you love insulting people so much, let me tell you what I think. You're a lewd, malicious little girl, _**and**_ you're really promiscuous. So there."

"Hey now, that was really hurtful," she said, dripping with sarcasm. "Are you serious? Come on, just call me a bitch and a slut. I'm helping you out here, it's a lot more effective."

"No. Sister Kimbay says those terms are degrading to women, and I don't want to degrade all women, just you."

"Isn't using promiscuity as an insult degrading to women anyway?" Naba asked.

"No, its bad for anyone to be overly promiscuous," Kevin defended. "That's how diseases are spread and unwanted babies are made."

Brynn snorted. "You're such a damn goody-two-shoes. Bet mommy and daddy love that, huh?"

"What, now you're trashing me because my family raised me right? Maybe if you had parents like mine, you wouldn't be such a shrew."

Kevin's words finally had some impact, and Brynn scowled. "Say what you want about me, but don't you dare go after my parents," she snarled. "At least I don't have to cower down to mine."

"And I don't have to cower down to mine, either."

"Bullshit. That's all you ever do. You didn't go to Weber State out of some choice to respect them on your own. You did it because you were scared, and you still are."

Kevin sputtered for a second before standing up. "Arnold, have Jami drive you home," he snapped, dropping his napkin onto the table. "I don't have to sit here and take this. I'm leaving."

"Oh, look, we finally have something in common," Brynn said. They slapped some money down in unison and headed toward opposite entrances.

The others sat around the table silently, not sure how to break the tension, until finally Arnold reached over and scooped up a bite of Kevin's shrimp. "I'm guessing he doesn't want this," he said.

"Well, that didn't go as well as I'd hoped," Jami lamented.

At that point, Connor approached empty handed and without his apron. "Okay, I've got a ten-minute break," he said, to which Jami gestured at the empty seats.

"You're too late."


	10. Inadvertent Double Date Night

_**Freshman Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 10: Inadvertent Double Date Night**

Connor intended to spend the last precious minutes before American Government reviewing notes for the quiz they were about to take, but he was interrupted by a pleasant voice and a smile.

"Ready for the weekend?" The intruder asked, casually flopping down in the seat next to his.

Matt Warrenton was a communication major, a social justice advocate, and the most outspoken in person in the class. Opinionated and quick to challenge, there were always a few eye rolls throughout the room whenever his hand shot up in the air. Connor wasn't really sure how the two became friends; he just happened to be sitting next to Matt one day and they clicked. As they sat side by side now, Connor thought back to the last time Naba visited, after the three of them ate lunch while Kevin and Arnold were at work.

"He _**likes**_ you," she'd said once Matt had taken his leave, clapping her hands together and giggling in excitement.

"Just because he's gay doesn't mean he likes me," Connor had replied.

"I know that, silly! But he still likes you. Don't you notice the way he's always smiling at you? And finding excuses to touch you? That's what people do when they're interested."

"You really think he feels that way?" Connor asked doubtfully.

"Of course he does. Now the real question: how do you feel about him? If you're interested, then go for it! You need to put yourself out there; come out of your shell."

Watching him now out of the corner of his eye, Connor couldn't help but wonder. Attractive, smart, and passionate about worthwhile causes, Matt certainly wasn't anything to look down upon. But did Connor want to date him? It was hard to tell. He'd never had a boyfriend before—or a girlfriend, or anyone even interested in him, as far as he knew—and this was all new territory. How did he know he wanted someone? Wasn't there supposed to a spark, or butterflies, or a message in the sky or something?

_You knew with Kevin_ , a voice in the back of his mind argued. But Connor knew exactly what Naba would say to that: forget about Kevin. Kevin wasn't interested, and it was time to move forward. So even if—

"You never answered my question," Matt pulled Connor out of his reverie, a small smile on his face as he paged through his notes. "You didn't answer my question, and now you're staring."

Connor quickly averted his eyes down to his own notes. "Well, that's because you interrupted my studying," he said. "Completely rude, by the way."

"So you decided to make me as uncomfortable as possible in return?"

"That's exactly what I did."

"Fair enough," Matt laughed, and maybe it was a desperation to move on, or maybe Connor was just thrilled to finally have an admirer, or heck, maybe he really did have feelings for Matt hidden somewhere, but with class starting in two minutes, Connor decided it was now or never.

"What are you doing tonight?" He asked. Hey, at least if Naba was wrong and he was horribly rejected, he'd have a nice distraction in the form of a quiz he wasn't prepared for soon enough.

"Tonight?" Matt shrugged. "There's a new _Game of Thrones_ episode I need to catch up on. And I'm running low on snacks, gotta make a run to the store sometime this weekend. But not tonight, because I'm having dinner with you."

Connor's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, are you?"

"Well, yeah, since you were obviously gonna ask," Matt replied with a smirk.

"No I wasn't, you don't know that."

"Yes, you definitely were."

"No, really. Maybe I was gonna ask you to do my laundry or something."

Matt's smirk only grew wider. "Are we sharing household chores now? This is moving a little fast for me."

"Shut up," Connor laughed, giving him a shove. Matt chuckled at that and then relented.

"Okay, for real," he said. "Does 6:30 work for you?"

"Perfect," Connor replied, and even when the professor entered the room and swiftly passed out a quiz that Connor was far less ready for than he expected, he still couldn't shake the smile from his face.

* * *

"Hey, Kev, pal, wanna start _Firefly_ with me tonight?" Arnold asked. "I'm telling you, you've gotta watch that show!"

"Can't tonight, sorry." Kevin said as he folded various pieces of clean laundry. "I've got a date."

This caused Arnold to look up from his laptop. "Really, a date? With a girl?"

"Yes, with a girl," Kevin laughed. "What'd you think I'd be going on a date with, a gnome?"

_A boy, maybe_ , Arnold thought. _Specifically Connor McKinley_. "I don't know," he answered instead. "I didn't think you dated."

"I did in high school." Kevin folded the last of his jeans and placed them neatly in the dresser. "My girlfriend Kimberly and I were voted both cutest couple _**and**_ prom king and queen." He grinned proudly at this, and Arnold suppressed an eye roll at the vanity of Kevin's glory days that arose every so often.

"So what happened to her, then?" Arnold asked, and Kevin simply shrugged.

"She went to BYU and I started prepping for my mission. We remained friends and talked about getting back together after I returned but…well, that was before Uganda."

"Huh. So who's this girl you're going on a date with?" Arnold leaned forward conspiratorially. "Is she cute?"

"She is," Kevin replied. "Her name's Julia and she's in my principles of micro class. I think she's been into me for a while, and the other day we got paired on a group project. So we started talking and, well, we're having dinner tonight."

"That's awesome," Arnold said. "Now you're gonna have a girlfriend just like I have a girlfriend!"

"Whoa, calm down, buddy," Kevin said. "It's just dinner."

"Still, though. I'm happy for you." Even if he was confused. Kevin wouldn't have kissed Connor in Uganda if he was into girls, right? Sure, he was drunk, and based on the way he acted afterward, he wasn't happy about what he'd done. But even so, it was still an indication of his preferences.

_Maybe he's bi_ , Arnold thought. That was definitely possible. But that didn't answer everything either, because if Kevin made out with Connor then he liked _**him**_ , not this Julia girl. Of course, Kevin didn't know Julia back then, so maybe now that he'd met her he decided he liked her better?

Arnold shook his head to clear out the convoluted mess of thoughts and simply went back to his online forum. People were confusing. He was glad he only liked Naba and she liked him back. It was so much easier that way.

* * *

_Later That Evening_

The steakhouse Kevin selected was certainly nice, cozy and dimly lit enough to be comfortable. In between bites of sirloin he chatted animatedly with Julia about every safe subject he could think of, from school and family to books, television, and the greatness that is Orlando, Florida

"So, do you have any pets?" he asked after a bit. "Are you a dog person or a cat person? Please tell me you're not a cat person."

Julia laughed and then pursed her lips in thought. "Hmm, that's a tough one. I like the idea of dogs, but they need so much exercise, so…"she trailed off and laughed. "I have a betta fish, does that count?"

"What do you do with a betta fish? Those are the ones with the fancy tails, right?"

"Yep, that's them. And you don't do anything, really; they just swim around and look pretty."

Kevin supposed this was the part where he was supposed to smile and nod politely, maybe tell her how much he adored his family's two labs, Milo and Maggie. But a distinct laugh from the other side of the room caught his attention, and he looked up to see Connor sitting several tables down, across from a boy Kevin didn't recognize. They appeared to be enjoying themselves; even from this distance Kevin detected the mischievous gleam in Connor's eye, and he couldn't stand it. He knew that look. That was the one Connor gave him just before they'd kissed—

Whoa. Stop. He was _**not**_ supposed to think about that night.

What did it matter if Connor was on a date? After all, that's exactly where Kevin was right now. It's not like he was jealous. In fact, this was great; it showed that Connor wasn't still pining for Kevin or anything crazy like that. He'd moved on, just like Kevin had, and now they could officially put that unspeakable night behind them. Perfect.

So really, it was no big deal that Connor was offering that jerk a bite of chicken off his own fork—that jerk who, by the way, was nowhere near as handsome as Kevin himself and probably didn't—

"Kevin?" Julia's voice snapped him back into focus. "You okay?"

"Yeah!" He said quickly, keeping his eyes trained directly on her and _**not**_ at the table across the room. "Yeah, I uh, got distracted—lots of projects coming up, right? I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

"My fish tank," she clarified. "I said he's in a one-gallon now, but I'm thinking about getting him a 2 gallon."

Connor laughed again, and it took all of Kevin's effort not to scowl. _Focus_ , he told himself. _Don't think about him. Think about this perfectly nice girl sitting in front of you_. "Do it," he said. "He needs room to swim."

"Right," Julia said. She folded up her napkin next to her now empty plate, and leaned back in her seat. "So what's the plan for tonight?"

"I don't know." Kevin set his own napkin on the table as well. He still had a few bites left, but he'd lost his appetite. "Do you want to see a movie?"

She smiled suggestively. "Not feeling up to the crowds," she said. "Your place or mine? You live in the dorms, right? Probably better to go to mine."

He faced her in confusion. "So…I guess we're getting a RedBox?"

"I'm gonna have to spell this out for you, aren't I?" Julia sighed. "Are we having sex or not?"

Kevin started at her, dumbstruck, for one long moment. "Oh," he said finally. "Oh, dear. Um…" He hadn't expected that. Why hadn't he expected that? He'd known Julia wasn't Mormon—wasn't religious in particular—and really, he wasn't either. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Connor stand up with his date, bid farewell to their server, and head toward the door. Would it be wrong if he slept with Julia? It's not like he actually believed in any of that purity crap anymore. Safety was the biggest issue here, so as long as they were careful and used protection there shouldn't be a problem, right?

Still, though, the sheer terror he felt now was probably proof that he wasn't ready. One thing was for certain, he wouldn't be losing his virginity tonight. "Julia," he began. "I can't. I think you're great, really. And I'm happy you're so comfortable with yourself, but I'm not sleeping with anyone on the first date. Maybe not until I'm married, I don't know. I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Don't be sorry," she said. "I get it. You've gotta do what's right for you."

Kevin let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks," he said. "I thought you'd—"

"How was everything, folks?" Kevin was cut off by the waiter scooping up their plates. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Just the check, please," Julia said. "Also, do you want to have sex tonight?"

Kevin's jaw dropped, while the server looked between the two of them quizzically. "With you?" He asked.

"Yeah, with me," she replied. "Don't worry about him; he's cool."

The waiter shrugged. "Sure. My shift ends in fifteen."

"Awesome, see you then," Julia said, and Kevin simply stared. "Come on, don't look at me like that," she told him once the server had carried away their plates. "You've gotta do what's right for you, and I need to do what's right for me. I don't do long-term relationships, and I don't do waiting. Plus, I definitely intended to get laid tonight. I'll pay for dinner, if that helps."

Kevin knew he should probably respond, but he was still trying to make sense of what had occurred. Had he just been dumped before they'd even received the check? Did she honestly think saving him a few bucks would make it all better? And what kind of server agrees to sleep with their customers while on the clock, anyway?

He stood up abruptly. "I have to go," he said.

* * *

Arnold had just been wondering how Kevin's date was going when his companion-turned-roommate stormed into the room, a pint of Ben and Jerry's Half-Baked in hand, and headed straight for his Disney shelf. He stood there silently, tapping his spoon against his chin and glaring at the titles.

"I really need to come up with a better way of organizing these," he snapped. "Right now they're alphabetical, but really they should be 'movies where the couple lives happily ever after' and 'movies that _**don't**_ make me want to gouge my eyes out.'"

Oh. So it didn't go well. "What happened?"

"She dumped me over dinner, that's what happened!" Kevin snatched up four movies— _Brave_ , _Lilo and Stitch_ , _Monsters Inc_ , and the first _Toy Story_ —and held them out. "Which one?"

"You know you're just gonna pick _Lilo and Stitch_. It's your favorite; you cry every time you watch it."

"It is my favorite," Kevin agreed, tossing the others back onto the shelf. "Well anyway, Julia said she wanted to sleep with me, I said I wasn't ready for that, and then she ditched me for the waiter. Seriously, she asked him over to her place, right in front of me, while he was collecting our plates. And he agreed! Right in front of me!"

_Aww, poor Kevin_. Arnold figured he should offer some sort of condolences right away, but Kevin was opening up the carton of dairy goodness so he decided it could wait until he found a spoon for himself. He stole one from Kevin's small stash of college-essential-cutlery, and Kevin scowled.

"I didn't buy this ice cream for us both," he snapped. "Maybe I want to eat it all and wallow in my misery."

"Sharing is caring," Arnold said, scooping out a large bite. "And man, that really sucks about tonight! But I thought you said it was just dinner. So at least you weren't in love with her or anything."

"That's true, but it's the principle of the matter. I've never been so humiliated in my life." Kevin readied the movie and took a seat next to Arnold on his bed.

"Not even when you had to ask Gotswana to remove a book from your butt?"

"Stop bringing that up. And that doesn't count; it's a whole separate entity in and of itself."

"Oh. Well, you'll find someone else. Someone better!"

A rare flash of self-doubt crossed Kevin's features. "Will I, though?" He said. "You know, this never would've happened before my mission. Do you have any idea how many girls wanted to date me in high school? Now Mormons think I'm a heathen and everyone else thinks I'm weirdly religious. I can't win!"

"So, what are you trying to say? Do you wish you hadn't gone to Uganda?"

"No, not at all," Kevin quickly clarified. "Goodness knows, that's the best thing I've ever done. It's just…do you think maybe I should've just slept with her? Would it really have been that big a deal?"

"Yeah, it would have been a huge deal!" Arnold said. "Because you didn't want to. So you wouldn't have been true to yourself. And being true to yourself is the most important thing ever! Really, it is. It's very important that you be true to yourself in _**every**_ way. Like, _**super**_ important." Arnold figured Kevin needed to grasp that concept given recent events, so he placed a lot of emphasis on his statement. But he might have overdone it, because now his friend was giving him a funny look.

"Okay," Kevin replied slowly.

"What's this all about, anyway?" Arnold asked. "I know you're not this upset just because you struck out with one girl."

Kevin considered his answer to Arnold's question very carefully. "I just…" He began. Why _**was**_ he so upset? Did he even know?

_Because this is just one more reminder of how much I've changed. Because I don't know where I stand anymore. Because apparently Connor dates now, and I hate that it bothers me so much._

"I just don't like being rejected," he finally finished.

Arnold didn't say anything for a moment; he merely wrapped his arms around Kevin and hugged him from the side.

"Don't be sad," he finally stated. "There's lots of people out there, religious or not, who'd love everything about you and want more than just a hookup. But you know what? You don't have to be in a rush to find them, because you're already awesome all by yourself! You're super smart, and you're gonna do a ton of great stuff. So don't worry about dating someone unless you're totally into them."

Kevin couldn't help but be warmed by Arnold's words. "When did you get so wise?" He said, leaning his head on Arnold's shoulders. "No wonder we always called you our prophet."

"Well, duh. 'Cause I'm awesome."

Kevin laughed, then hit play on the remote. "Here," he said as he reached over for the ice cream container on his desk. "Finish this with me."

They watched the movie and took turns scooping out bites of ice cream, and while Kevin was reassured by Arnold's words, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong with him. And if he could just reach inside himself, dig out whatever it was, and make a few small adjustments, then he would finally be perfect.

* * *

_The Next Morning_

Naba headed straight to Connor's room the minute she arrived on campus mid-morning, knocking on his door and entering as soon as she heard him say to come in.

"How was your date?" she asked, grinning suggestively.

Connor was sitting on his bed, idly flipping through a magazine. "It went well," he replied. "We went to a little steakhouse nearby, nothing special."

She sighed in exasperation and flopped down across from him. "But what did you think?" She prodded. "Was he everything you imagined? Are you seeing him again?"

That question gave Connor pause. "I'm…well, I'm not sure," he said, flipping the magazine shut. "He's great. Really, he is. And once we went back to his place—"

"Wait, wait," Naba cut him off. "You went home with him? Did you…" The look on his face told her everything she needed to know, and her eyes widened. "Are you fucking with me? Connor!"

"What? You're the one who told me to get out of my shell."

"I meant ease your way out bit by bit, not punch right through it!"

"Oh, well, where's the fun in that?"

Naba laughed and shook her head. "I can't believe you had sex on the first ever date you've ever had," she said.

"Stop that." Connor suddenly felt self-conscious. "You're judging me, aren't you?"

"No, no, I just never expected that from you. So, how was it?"

He shrugged, somewhat at a loss for words. "It was good," he said. "To be honest, I had no clue what I was doing. And now that it's over, I'm not sure what all the hype is about."

Maybe he felt that way because it didn't mean anything. He wasn't in love, and Matt wasn't Kevin. But there was no way he was going to say that aloud. He didn't have to, though; Naba simply knew.

"Next time will be better," she said. "It'll be with someone special."

Though the idealist in him knew she was right, the realist wondered just how long it would take.


	11. Under the Deep Aquarium Sea

_**Freshman Year, End of Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 11: Under the Deep Aquarium Sea**

"Kevin, guess what?" Arnold bounded through their open door and flopped down across Kevin's bed.

"Oh hey, Arn." Kevin grinned as looked up from his laptop, where he should've been studying for finals but was thoroughly burnt out and instead watching _The Big Bang Theory_. "You're not gonna believe this; I just found out—"

"Tell me later. Guess what? Guess _**what**_? We're going to a party!"

"What's this _we_ you're talking about?" Kevin asked. "I can't go to a party; I have to study."

"You're watching a TV show, Kev."

"Exactly, which means I have to study tonight. Have you seen this, by the way? It's hilarious; we should start watching it together."

"Really? I'm not much of a fan—hey, don't change the subject! You've got plenty of time to study for finals. Come to the party tonight, and then cram the rest of the week like everyone else."

Kevin sighed. "I don't feel comfortable with the whole party scene," he said.

"Why not? Weren't you the most popular kid in high school? I bet you went to parties all the time!"

"Well, yeah, but my school was full of Mormons. A party for us meant hanging out under close parental supervision watching the latest Pixar movie. I can't go to a _**college**_ party; there'll be debauchery there."

Arnold couldn't help himself. He started laughing, and Kevin scowled. "What's so funny?" he said defensively.

"Two years in Uganda, one year in college, and you're still the same old Kevin," he explained. "It won't be bad, I promise. It's not like we're going to some crazy frat party; this is just a guy in my comp class and his roommates having an end-of-the-year bash at their house. Come on, no one's ever invited me to a party before. Connor's working again this evening, and I don't wanna go by myself. Well, I won't be by myself; Naba's taking the train up, but I want you there, too! Please?"

Kevin took one look at Arnold's hopeful expression and felt his resolve melt away. Still, he couldn't give in that easily. "You know, the last time you had an idea like this, I got drunk and stormed the stage at a gay bar," he said.

Arnold laughed. "Oh, man, I wish I had filmed that." Upon seeing Kevin's unamused glare, he quickly added, "Nothing like that's gonna happen tonight. Just be more careful. And I'll keep an eye on you, I promise."

Damn it, there was no way Kevin could say no to those puppy-dog eyes. "Fine," he gave in. "But we're not staying the whole time. You're gonna make me fail all my exams, you know that?"

"Please, you couldn't fail if you tried," Arnold laughed. "This is gonna be so awesome! Our first college party. How come we waited until the end of the year to go to our first college party? Oh well, plenty more next year!" He bounced up and down in excitement. "I'm already stoked for next year, are you? It's gonna be great; you and me, roomies again, taking on our sophomore year—"

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Kevin cut him off. "We can't live together next year."

Arnold did a double-take, and then laughed. "Haha, good one," he said. When Kevin didn't join in, he abruptly panicked. "Wait, are you serious? Oh, man, you're sick of me, I knew it!"

"What? No!" Kevin quickly corrected him. "It's not that at all. I just found out I'm gonna be an RA next year!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, isn't it great? But they're not allowed to have roommates."

"I didn't know you auditioned for RA."

"Applied, not auditioned. And I wasn't sure if I'd be selected, so I didn't want to tell anyone. Otherwise they would have asked if I got it, and I would've had to tell them no, and—well, you know how that goes."

Arnold beamed. "Well, you did get it, so that's awesome!" he said, and then his smile disappeared. "But who am I gonna live with?"

"You can live with Connor," Kevin replied. "I don't think he's rooming with anyone specific."

As if on cue, Connor knocked on the door and swung it open without an invitation, a wide grin plastered across his face. "O-M-gosh, you guys, I'm gonna be an RA!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Kevin looked up in alarm. "Wait, no, _**I'm**_ gonna be an RA."

"We're both RAs!"

"But how's that possible?" Kevin challenged without thinking. "How are _**you**_ an RA?"

"I know, right? I can't even—wait, what's that supposed to mean?" Connor narrowed his eyes. "I have more leadership experience than you. I ran a mission for two years; you built a dog park in a town that already has several."

Arnold, meanwhile, was looking between the two with terror in his eyes. "WHO THE HECK AM I GONNA LIVE WITH?!" he shrieked.

"Arnold, calm down, it'll be okay," Kevin said. "You can always live with a random person. Connor did that and it worked out. He barely even saw the guy."

"Yeah, it's been great," Connor deadpanned. "It's not like I ever suspected Blake had a hit list _**at all.**_ "

"Oh man, I don't want to live with an assassin!" Arnold wailed.

"You're not gonna live with an assassin. Connor's exaggerating, and his bad experience isn't the norm, I promise." Kevin reassured him. Then he looked up at Connor and scowled. "Honestly, Arnold; you can't trust him. He thought he was king of our mission, and now he wants to be king of the dorms as well."

"They're called residence halls," Connor replied. "And come on, being an RA means free housing. I can't believe you ever thought I _**wouldn't**_ apply."

"Oh yeah? Is that the only reason you did it?"

"Of course not. It's just…well, most of the reason."

"Man, this isn't fair," Arnold sighed, burying his face in Kevin's pillow. "You guys are getting fancy leadership positions, and I don't even have a roommate or a major."

"Oh, don't worry about any of that," Connor said. "The hall staff will find a roommate for you, and you can figure out your major next semester! Plenty of students don't choose one until their sophomore year. Actually, did you know that a lot of colleges aren't using the term _undecided_ anymore? They're calling them _deciding students_ to get rid of the negative connotation, and I think that's wonderful, don't you?"

"Seriously?" Kevin's eyebrows shot up. "That doesn't make any sense. Undecided and still deciding basically mean the same thing."

Connor glared at him. " _Oh hello, I'm Kevin Price_ ," he mocked in a poor imitation of Kevin's voice. " _My major is sooo practical, and I don't care about anyone else's feelings at all._ Well, you know what, Kevin? No one asked you."

Arnold's phone chimed, and he glanced down at the screen. "Naba's here," he said. "I'm gonna go meet her, and I don't want to hear any more arguing when I get back." He stepped out into the hallway, leaving Kevin and Connor inside.

"I don't sound like that," Kevin snapped. He stood up and returned his laptop to its usual place on his desk, then spun back around and added, "Oh, and by the way? Ogden did not have _**several**_ dog parks. They had two. _**Now**_ I suppose you could say they have several, but only because I built one. And mine has an obstacle course, so there."

* * *

_An Hour Later_

"You're not wearing your party clothes?" Kevin asked as he started up his blue '98 Honda Civic.

"Nah, those are for going out. This is a casual party."

Kevin chuckled, craning his neck as he backed out of the parking space.

Living with Kevin in America had taught Arnold quite a bit about his friend. During their mission, the two had grown accustomed to each other's quirks. Kevin knew that Arnold loved the smell of vanilla, hated folding laundry, and oftentimes naturally woke up with the sun, while Arnold learned that Kevin was freaked out by both clowns and grasshoppers, spent more time on his hair than anyone else Arnold knew, and absolutely had to have at least 8 hours of sleep or else he'd be grumpy and sluggish the next morning.

While he'd thought he had Kevin figured out, Arnold quickly realized upon moving into the residence halls that there was a lot he'd never had the chance to learn about his friend in Uganda. For example, he got cold easily, his favorite food was pizza, he had an embarrassingly large amount of Disney soundtracks and Kelly Clarkson albums in his iTunes folder, and he kept his childhood stuffed animal, an otter named Oliver, in a box under his bed that he took out to sleep with whenever he was feeling upset. The karaoke incident with the General aside, he also hated singing (despite having a pretty good voice) unless he was at church or driving, so when he pulled onto the street and immediately began singing along with Taylor Swift on the radio, Arnold thought nothing of it and stared glumly out the window.

He was happy for Kevin; really, he was. Kevin clearly thought being an RA was a big deal, and he was excited for the opportunity. But still, Arnold couldn't help but be a little sad as well, even if it was a tad selfish. Their whole friendship was built around living together and being forced to spend time with each other. What would happen now that they were no longer practically glued at the hip? Would they drift apart? Arnold could totally see that happening. Kevin would get caught up in his schoolwork and RA duties, and then he'd only hang out with the other RAs or people he saw in class—

Wait a minute. "Hey Kevin, we should take a class together next semester!"

" _Cause darling I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream_ —we've already registered, remember? And I've only got a couple gen eds left, buddy."

"Then let's take one of those! We can still make changes, right? We haven't had a class together yet; we've gotta do this."

"Oh, you definitely should!" Naba added. "You could study together. That would help Arnold so much; he needs to study more."

"Hey, I'm doing okay," Arnold protested. "Just because I don't have a 4.0 like Kevin and Connor doesn't mean I'm not doing a good job."

"Connor has a 3.6 right now," Kevin said. "He's already somehow got the same position as me; let's not pretend we have the same GPA, too."

"Still better than my GPA," Arnold said. "What's your deal, anyway? It's not like you lost the RA job when Connor got it."

Kevin sighed. "I know that," he said. "I'm just cranky because my physics class is kicking my butt, and I probably won't even _**have**_ a 4.0 after I'm finished with this final. It shouldn't be this hard, but there's just something about his tests that I don't get. I've never gotten a B in my life; how the heck am I supposed to get into my top med school with a damn B?"

"Oh, Kevin," Naba said. "Do not worry about that; a B is still very good."

"Yeah," Arnold said. "NYU took you once; they'll do it again no matter what your grades are!"

"Johns Hopkins," Kevin muttered. "And that's not how it works. They accepted me for undergrad. Medical school's a completely different story."

"It will be okay," Naba reassured him. "You haven't even taken the final yet; I think you'll do great. And even if you don't, I am sure there are people who got into your fancy school with Bs."

"Maybe." With his brow furrowed, Kevin pulled up alongside the curb at the address Arnold gave him, and Arnold couldn't help but wonder if his grades were the only reason Kevin was upset.

* * *

Everything Kevin said was true, really. He was stressed beyond belief about this physics final, and the thought of losing his perfect academic record devastated him. But maybe, just maybe, that wasn't actually what he was focusing on at the moment.

As the three of them got out of the car and headed toward the house, however, he knew there was no way he could divulge any more information. How could he possibly explain that, as much as he loved Connor ( _no_ , he told himself, _don't use the word_ _love_ ), every time he was around the former district leader he thought about how Connor was dating other people and probably didn't even think about that night anymore? How he was hoping that being an RA would take his mind off all this, but now that probably wouldn't happen because Connor would be there as well?

Naturally, he wasn't telling Naba and Arnold any of that. He wondered if Naba sensed his stress, though, because as they entered the house, she said, "Do not worry about your exam tonight Kevin. You're going to be an RA; you have to celebrate!"

"Yeah!" Arnold added. "Even though I'm gonna miss living with you. And I bet you'll miss living with me too, right?"

"Sure, pal. Though I won't miss your snoring," Kevin teased.

"Oh yeah? Well then, I won't miss _**your**_ snoring! Or your teeth grinding, or your constant sleep babbling."

"It's not constant," Kevin protested. "I only talk in my sleep sometimes."

"Well that's some times too many, buddy. You know how many times you've woken me up? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I could actually understand what the heck you were saying, but nope, never can."

Kevin laughed and then surveyed the room around them. It was typical of the houses surrounding the university that students snatched up for cheap rent: old and unkempt with stained, threadbare carpets and secondhand furniture. The only exception to these sparse surroundings was an elaborate, ten-gallon aquarium in the living room.

"Oh look, Kev, wine coolers!" Arnold said as he headed into the kitchen. "I think those are sweet, like long islands! Here, want one?"

"Definitely not," Kevin said adamantly. "My past experiences with alcohol haven't exactly been great, remember? Is there Sprite in there?"

"Suit yourself," Arnold said, handing him a plastic cup filled with soda and then grabbing a peach Seagrams for himself. "Oooh, karaoke! This is the best party ever! He took off toward the karaoke machine set up on the back deck, leaving Kevin alone in entryway separating the kitchen and living room.

"Brownie?" Kevin looked over to see a student with bloodshot eyes standing by the counter and holding out a tray.

"No thank you," Kevin replied.

"You sure? It's Grandma's recipe, if you know what I mean," he said, waggling an eyebrow suggestively.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kevin asked. "Is your grandma a baker or something?"

"Oh, yeah," Red-Eyes laughed. "Best baker in the world, keeps everyone coming back for more. C'mon, try a bite."

Well, they did look and smell delicious. Kevin tentatively reached over and plucked one off the top of the stack.

"Oh wow," Kevin said once he'd bitten into the chocolatey goodness. "These really are amazing."

"Told you," Red-Eyes said, smirking and turning away. "Have fun."

Kevin watched him go with a frown on his face. Well, that was odd. Suddenly, his mind flashed way, way back to fifth grade DARE class, when the officer told them people sometimes put marijuana in baked goods, and he looked down at the brownie in horror. But wait, these tasted normal. If there was weed in them, wouldn't they like plants or something? Red-Eyes was probably just trying to freak him out. Shrugging, he finished off the rest of the chewy treat.

* * *

"This is fun. Isn't this fun?" Arnold said to Naba as he happily finished off his wine cooler. The two had settled of a couple of lawn chairs and were now watching a pair of already-drunk girls slur through Sia's "Chandelier."

Naba took a sip of her beer and shrugged. "I suppose," she replied.

"Travis said he was gonna make pot brownies; how crazy is that?" Arnold rambled. "Man, I hope the cops don't show up. Speaking of which, you can't drink that, you're not twenty-one—" When Naba gave him a challenging look, he cleared his throat and moved on.

"So, uh, you excited to get your GED?" He asked. "You'll be ready to ace it before you know it!"

Naba smiled at his optimism. "I still have a lot of preparation to do," she said. "I have very little formal schooling, and no background in American history."

"You're still gonna do awesome," Arnold insisted. "And then you'll be here with us!"

Naba didn't respond to that, running her finger along the rim of beer with her lips pursed.

"What?" he pressed.

"Nothing," Naba said. "I said nothing."

"Well you're thinking something."

"It's just—I think that maybe I shouldn't come here," she said. "Perhaps it's better if I go to Salt Lake Community College instead. It's cheaper, and I can stay with your parents."

"Are you serious? No, Naba don't do that, it's a terrible idea. Don't you think so, Kevin?" He turned around, only to find that Kevin was nowhere in sight. "Bestie?" he called. "I thought he followed us out here. Hold on, Naba, I'm gonna go find Kev so he can agree that it's a terrible idea." He made his way back inside and quickly found Kevin standing in the kitchen.

"Hey, Kevin, you've gotta come help me talk to Naba. She's saying that—" Arnold stopped when he fully took in Kevin's appearance, standing over a tray of brownies with a treat in hand and a look that wasn't quite right in his eyes.

_Oh no_. Arnold deflated. _I'm such a failure, I promised I'd look out for him_! _Wait, no_ , he decided. _This one's on HIM, not me_. Even Arnold knew to avoid brownies at a party. "Um, Kevin?" he began. "Please tell me you haven't been eating those this whole time."

"Arnold. Oh my god, Arn, these brownies," Kevin said, his speech slower than normal. "They're what's-his-face's grandma's recipe and they're _**fantaaabulous**_. This is my third. You need to eat one."

"Nah, buddy, I'm good," Arnold said. "And hey, don't eat that." Remembering that he was in the middle of argument with Naba, Arnold pulled the brownie out of Kevin's hands and led him over to the couch. "Sit here for a bit, okay? Just chill. Don't move until I get back." He figured he probably didn't have to worry too much about him disregarding that order, since Kevin was now sitting peacefully on the couch and staring at the coffee table with one of the most intense gazes Arnold had ever seen. Satisfied, Arnold headed back outside, tossing the loaded dessert in the garbage along the way.

"Kevin says your plan is dumb, and you should definitely go to Weber State," he told Naba.

She rolled her eyes. "He couldn't come out here to say that himself?" she asked.

"Um, no. He's busy."

Naba sighed. "I know you want me to join you boys here," she said. "But I don't think it's necessary. I want to become a nurse, and it would be much cheaper to do the RN program at SLCC."

"Well, yeah, but," Arnold racked his brain for anything that might change her mind. "What if you decide you want a bachelor's degree instead of an associate's? They don't have those there!"

"I don't think I'll need one of those. But if I do I can always transfer, or go back to school in the future."

"Naba, come on, what about—"

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Naba said. "I haven't even received my GED yet; I'm nowhere near ready for _**any**_ college. Besides, this is a party, we are supposed to be having fun. Hold this, I need to use the restroom." She handed him her beer and stepped back inside. Shoulders slumped, Arnold figured he better check on Kevin.

It turns out Kevin hadn't quite done what Arnold asked, although he didn't stray far. He was now crouched directly in front of the aquarium staring at the fish, face and hands pressed against the glass.

"Kevin?" Arnold asked as he set the beer on the coffee table. "Whatcha doing?"

It took a bit before Kevin spoke. "I am one with marine biology," he responded quietly. "This must be how Ariel feels." Then he started humming the melody Ariel sings as her voice is snatched away, and Arnold decided it was time to intervene once more.

"Okay, buddy." He pulled him away from the tank and back toward the couch. "That's enough, you're scaring the fish. Here, watch some TV." An old episode of _How It's Made_ began playing on screen when Arnold hit the power button on the remote, and Kevin leaned forward in utter fascination. Figuring that should preoccupy him for the rest of the evening, Arnold grabbed the beer and headed back in search of Naba.

He caught her just as she was exiting the bathroom. "Okay, I know you said you don't want to talk about it," he said, handing over the glass bottle. "But we kinda have to talk about it. Where's this coming from? A couple months ago you said you were totally coming here."

"That was before I did the research."

"No, see, you can't do this. First Kevin says he can't live with me anymore, then Connor can't live with me, either, and now you're not even—"

"It's not all about you!" Naba snapped. "Kevin and Connor both got great leadership opportunities; try feeling happy for them instead of sorry for yourself. And I'm not comfortable asking your parents for money that isn't necessary, how hard is that for you to understand?"

"They won't mind," Arnold said. It was true, actually. The Cunninghams were initially furious when they found out what was going on in Uganda. However, when Arnold returned home and they saw how much it had improved him, they grudgingly accepted it, they liked Naba enough to share their wealth without complaint. As a corporate lawyer, Mr. Cunningham had made enough over the years to build up a substantial college fund for his only child. Arnold used to feel like his inability to get into one to the Ivy League schools it was intended for was just one more item on his list of failures; now, however, he appreciated the fact that this left enough for Naba to benefit from the money as well.

Naba shook her head. " _ **I**_ mind," she said. "I'm sorry, but it doesn't feel right." She turned away and headed down the hallway.

"Naba, wait—"

"I told you, I don't want to talk about this."

Arnold thought about following her, but what would he say? Instead, he returned to the living room and took a seat on the couch next to Kevin—who was still staring at the television in wonder—and stared down miserably at his hands. He distantly heard the narrator explain the process of labeling records—a thin layer of glue is spread on one label, which is adhered to the record, and then the record is flipped so a second label can be applied to the other side—and then he heard Kevin burst into tears. Arnold looked over at his friend, praying that he had heard wrong, because surely Heavenly Father understood he had enough on his plate as it was. Nope, Kevin was definitely crying.

He sighed in resignation. "Buddy, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Arnold. They, they…" Kevin sniffed and then continued. "They put a label on, and then they put another label on the back." With that, he hiccupped and dissolved into another fit of tears.

"Yeah, so?"

"It's the most beautiful story ever told. The labels are together forever. But they're actually not. They're separated. By the record."

"Oh, yeah?" Arnold watched him wipe his eyes, and he hoped more than anything that Kevin remembered this when the high wore off, because he was going to feel so dumb. "You think that's pretty cool, don't you?"

"Yeah, it's tragic. And I'm the label."

"You are, huh?"

"No, you don't understand. I _**am**_ the label; that's me."

Arnold studied his friend closely, wondering what exactly was going on in that pot-addled brain of his. "Kevin, is there something in particular you're trying to tell me?"

"Yes!" Kevin cried. "What I'm trying to say—I'm telling you that—that I'm the label!" He left it at that and looked at Arnold expectantly.

Arnold sighed. "Buddy, I don't know if you're trying to come out to me or if you literally think you're a label right now, so we're just gonna change the channel." He picked up the remote and channel-surfed until a pair of sparkling diamond earrings appeared on screen. "Look, QVC. Oooh, shiny!" he said, and Kevin stared ahead, mesmerized once more.

"I cannot stress enough what a great deal this is," the saleswoman insisted. "Just 95 dollars, we're practically giving them away. Folks, we only have 43 pairs left so they're going fast! Call the number on the screen to get yours now."

Kevin fumbled for his phone. "I have to call them," he said.

"Don't call them." Arnold quickly snatched the phone away.

"But the lady said so."

"What the heck are you gonna do with earrings?" He heaved a giant sigh. "You know what, I'm not feeling this party. Let's just take you home. Naba!" he called, standing up and joining her in the kitchen. "Can we go?"

"What's wrong with him?" Naba frowned and gestured to Kevin, who had followed Arnold and was now snacking from a large plastic mixing bowl full of Doritos.

"He ate the brownies."

"Ah," Naba nodded. "Okay, we can leave."

Arnold quickly bid goodbye to his friends, and then they all made their way to Kevin's car. Upon seeing Arnold was suddenly struck by the obvious.

"Um, Naba, how are we gonna get home?" he asked. "Kevin can't drive, and we don't have our licenses."

Naba craned her head back toward the front door. "No one else is leaving this early, and there's no way Connor's off yet" she said. "Let me call Jami. I think she's free."

"I can drive." Kevin had carried the bowl out with him and was still munching away.

"No, Kevin, you are high as a damn kite right now," Naba said. "You can't drive."

"I can drive," he repeated. "See, watch." Arnold was quick to steal the keys out of his pocket, but for curiosity's sake he did unlock the door.

Kevin started for the car and, at a loss with his hands full, threw the bowl to the ground and opened the door. He stepped inside, and then with the door still open, gripped the steering wheel with both hands and leaned forward.

"See?" he said, eyes focused intently on the windshield. "Told you."

"Okay, okay, you got us," Arnold sighed. "Now get out of there." He helped Kevin out of the car, and Naba pulled up Jami's number on her phone. Arnold half-listened to her chat for a few minutes before hanging up.

"She'll be here soon," she said.

"Okay, cool," Arnold replied. "Let me just tell my friend we're leaving the car here tonight and—Kevin, no, we don't eat chips off the grass. Stop it." Face palming, Arnold headed back inside the house.

* * *

_The Next Morning_

"I don't know why he is so upset," Naba closed her eyes and leaned back toward Connor as he massaged her shoulders. "What does it matter if I go to the community college?"

"He misses you," Connor said, shifting in his cross-legged position on his bed. "And he wants to see you every day like he used to."

"I understand, I miss him too," she replied. "But it's not like we'll never see each other. That feel amazing, by the way."

"Glad you like it. My mom's a massage therapist; she taught me few tricks. Before she decided I was trash and threw me out, that is."

"Your parents are fucking idiots."

"They really are, aren't they? I wish they weren't. But we aren't talking about me. Go on."

"There isn't much more to say. As long as I get the degree I need, it doesn't matter to me where I go to college. So why would I ask the Cunninghams to spend more? Is that wrong?"

"No," he said. "I definitely get that. International and out-of-state tuition are crazy expensive, even with financial aid. Sometimes I think I should have stayed in Idaho, except then I would've been alone. At least here I can stay with Poptarts over breaks. So no, I don't think you're wrong for taking that into consideration at all."

Naba smiled. Although she would never admit it to Arnold, she often missed Connor as much as she missed him when she was in Salt Lake. When the district leader first arrived in her village, she'd written him off as just another ignorant American who thought a religious text could solve all their problems, and she'd paid him no mind. It wasn't until she and Arnold became close and she began spending more time at mission headquarters that she realized how much the two clicked, and now she considered him to be her closest friend.

"But I have to ask, is that the only reason you don't want to come to Ogden?" Connor continued, his hands moving down from her shoulders to her upper back. "Because of the cost? Forgive me if I'm wrong, but it seems there's more to it."

"Well, actually…" The downside to this friendship was that she couldn't hide anything from him. "To be honest, I also don't want to live in the dorms."

"Residence halls," Connor automatically corrected. "Why not? It's a great environment."

"It isn't the buildings, it's the people," she said. "Weber State doesn't have co-ed housing and I…um, I don't know if I can live with an American that isn't one of you boys. It's awkward enough at times with Arnold's parents, and I feel so out of place sometimes—what if my roommate doesn't understand me?"

Connor sighed and pulled his hands away. "Turn around," he said, and Naba twisted around on the bed to face him. "If you really think SLCC is where you have to be, then I support you. But I don't want you to make that decision out of fear you won't fit in. You're amazing, and you'll thrive no matter where you go. Your roommate's going to love you, and if she doesn't, well, then she's stupid and you'll move in with someone better. Okay?"

Naba nodded and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "Okay," she said. She still had no idea what her plan for the future was, but at that moment, it didn't matter.

* * *

_The Following Week_

Arnold watched Kevin glare at his computer screen for a full three minutes before he spoke. "Are you trying to work that with your mind?" he asked.

"Hey, Arnold," Kevin snapped, eyes still glued to the Canvas page pulled up on up his screen. "Want me to tell you about my first year of college? Sit down, it's a great story. First, I got into one of the best schools in the nation. But then I couldn't go, because my parents flat out suck. So I went here, I got drunk at a gay bar, got dumped in the middle of a date, was paired with the worst lab partner in the world, accidently ate marijuana at a party I didn't want to go to—I committed a felony, Arnold, a felony! I sang to fish, almost bought diamond earrings, and ate food off the muddy ground. And then, then, two days later, despite all of my hard work, I got a C on my physics final! Which means I got a B in the class. I got a freaking B! How am I supposed to become a doctor now?"

Arnold almost pointed out that Kevin was drunk before he got to the gay bar, but the devastated look in his eyes made it clear Kevin couldn't handle jokes right now. "Oh Kevin, don't worry," he said. "I'm sure UNC Charlotte will still take you."

Ken slammed the laptop shut and buried his head in his arms, not even bothering to correct Arnold this time. "I failed," he said. "I tried to get an A, and I couldn't do it. Which means I failed. I might as well quit school and work at Starbucks forever."

"Getting a B is not failing," Arnold said. "That class was super hard, right? I bet there were people who did a lot worse." When Kevin didn't respond, Arnold tried a different approach. "Want to go get ice cream? We can bring it back here and watch one of your Disney movies."

After a few more seconds of staring miserably at the grade on his screen, Kevin nodded and stood up. Arnold patted his back reassuringly, and the two headed out.


	12. Your Strengths According to Gallup

_**Sophomore Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 12: Your Strengths According to Gallup**

"Kevin! KEVIN!" Arnold's screech resounded down the hallway before he even made it to Kevin's door. Sighing heavily, Kevin pulled his focus from the paperwork covering his desk and stood up.

"Hey, buddy!" he said when he reached the open doorway.

Arnold gave no verbal response to that; rather, he laughed and threw his arms around Kevin. "We're back in college!" he exclaimed. "I'm so excited; are you excited? Oh boy, I missed you!"

"Aw, I missed you, too." Kevin clapped him on the back. Truth be told, it hadn't been long since the two had seen each other; they'd met up in Salt Lake shortly before Kevin had returned to school for RA training. Still, Kevin wasn't lying when he said he missed Arnold. After countless lectures on hall safety, emergencies, conflict resolution, diversity, programming, duty, and God knows what else, topped off with with an entire day's worth of check-ins, Kevin needed a friend.

"So this is your room?" Arnold stepped inside and plopped down on the bed. Aside from being designed to accommodate one person instead of two, it was no different than the one they'd shared last year. "How cool, you have it all to yourself! I haven't met my roommate, 'cause he hasn't gotten in yet. His name's Quentin and he's from a town called Price, how funny is that? I didn't know there was a town in Utah called Price, did you?"

"I did, actually."

"Really? Did your ancestors settle there or something?"

"I have no idea. I don't think so."

"Oh, well, anyhow, Quentin seems cool on Facebook. But don't worry, he's not gonna be my new best friend. That's you."

Kevin took a seat at his desk, stacking all of the check-in paperwork in a neat pile. "You're allowed to have other friends, Arn."

"Not _**best**_ friends, though. Oh, hey, guess what? Connor's my RA! Isn't that weird? Though I guess it's not super weird, since he used to be my district leader and all—oh, man, you could imagine if _**you**_ would've been my RA? Now _**that**_ would have been weird!"

Kevin grinned. "You wouldn't have gotten special treatment, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh, whatever. You love me. So how's being an RA? Is it totally awesome?"

"It's great!"

"You sure? I don't believe you; you're doing that funny thing with your face."

Kevin did a double-take. "What funny thing? I don't do a funny thing with my face."

"Yeah huh. Sometimes, when you lie, you do this plastic grin thing that makes you look like those wax people."

Kevin rolled his eyes, and then relented. "It's…well, it's okay," he said. "I haven't done much yet. But training was awful. Everyone was just _**so excited**_ to be here, and we talked about competencies, and rules, and it reminded me of missionary training, except a lot more hand-holding and sharing our feelings." He stood up and walked over to the little bookshelf by his bed. "On the first day, we had to take this assessment to find our top five leadership strengths, and then they gave us these." He held up a 5x7 frame with a paper in it that said: _My name is Kevin. My strengths are Significance, Belief, Futuristic, Command, Competition_.

Arnold squinted at the frame. "I don't know what that means," he said.

"Well, I have a packet that'll tell you all about it, if you're curious." Kevin snorted. "The test was kind of cool, actually. But not this stupid thing," he waved the frame in the air once before tossing it back on the bookshelf. "I don't know. It's still early, and I hope I'm wrong, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm going to hate being an RA."

* * *

"Okay, I know it's early," Connor told Naba. "But I think I'm going to love being an RA. Training was amazing, my supervisor's great, and check it out! They had us take a test to find our top five leadership strengths, and then they gave us these." He held up a frame that read: _My name is Connor. My strengths are Developer, Harmony, Discipline, Belief, Connectedness_. "Isn't that adorable?" he went on. "And look; Student Wellness gave us stress balls to give to all our residents. How fun!"

Naba chuckled. "I'm glad you like it," she said. "But enough about your boring training; how was your summer? And when do I get to meet your new boyfriend?"

Connor laughed at the excited glint in her eyes. Ever since he'd told her about the fellow WSU student he had started dating over the summer, she'd been pestering him nonstop for details. "You'll meet him soon enough; I think he's getting in tonight," he said. "And summer was nice. Olive Garden let me transfer to the Layton branch for a couple months, which was convenient. Also, turns out Poptarts's mom is a secret alcoholic. Definitely didn't pick up on that over Christmas. The two of us played a ton of late night scrabble, which is definitely a lot more fun when you're both drunk."

Naba shook her head. "That's a funny image," she said. "But also kind of awful. Do you think she drinks because of Poptarts's sister?"

Connor shrugged. "She said she's been doing it since college." Then he remembered the night they'd both broken down and cried—Mrs. Thomas over the loss of her daughter, and Connor over his family—and he added, "Although that probably made it worse."

"Hm," Naba said. Then she feigned a look of disdain. "You know, it sounds like you're becoming a bit of an alcoholic yourself. You're starting to be a bad influence."

Connor's only response to that was to throw the stress ball he was holding at her. She giggled and ducked just in time. "And now you are violent. Wait until I tell my father."

Connor laughed, although he caught the wistful look in her eye at the mention of Mafala. "You miss him, don't you?"

"Every day," she said. "But I don't want to go back. I know he is proud of me; he tells me so in every letter."

"We're all proud of you," Connor said. "Speaking of which, Arnold says you're about to get your GED!"

She nodded proudly. "Not right away, but I should be prepared soon. I think I'll be able to start college next semester."

"Oh yeah? Know where you're going yet?"

At that, Naba's pride quickly faded. "I'm still not sure."

"Well, don't be rushed to make a decision. Focus on the exam first, and the rest will fall into place. Come on, let's go get dinner. I think this is going to be a great year, don't you?"

* * *

Arnold's phone buzzed, and he fumbled to get it out of his pocket. "Naba says she and Connor are getting food," he said. "Let's join them; I'm starving!"

"Sure," Kevin grabbed his keys.

"Man, I can't believe we're back," Arnold said as they stepped into the hallway and Kevin locked up. "I thought I'd be sad for no more summer, but I'm not. And hey, we're taking a class together! How fun is that? You and me, in sociology. I'm not even sure what that is, really, but I'm pumped! I think this is gonna be a great year, don't you?"

Maybe it was the exhaustion from training, but a tiny part of Kevin didn't quite agree with that statement. However, he squashed the thought and smiled. It was a new year, and he was one step closer to accomplishing his goals. "Definitely, pal," he said.

A year from now, Kevin would look back on this moment and think he should have trusted his intuition.


	13. Ira Gotfrey Killed His Parents

_**Sophomore Year, Fall Semester, First Day of Class** _

**Chapter 13** : **Ira Gotfrey Killed His Parents**

Kevin scowled as he walked into his organic chem class and recognized one all-too-familiar and unwelcome face. He glared at Brynn DeMarco and spat, "I thought I was done with you."

"Well that was a dumbass assumption," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a notebook. "Considering we're both microbiology majors."

"So? I'm pre-med track, and you're, I don't know, something stupid."

"Public health. And it's still the same core classes, genius."

"Whatever." It wasn't until he slid into the adjacent seat and pulled out his own notebook that he realized he didn't have to sit next to her. But it would look dumb if he moved now.

"Just so you know, I'm not working with you again this semester," he said. "Find a new partner."

"Believe me, I plan to. I'm sick of you and your face and your basic Utah upbringing."

"You're a resident of this state too, hypocrite."

"I live here, yes, but I went to college prep school in California."

"Oh, boy," Kevin snorted. "California. You know, you may _**act**_ like you're something special, but I'm pretty sure I've done a heck of a lot more than you. Did you revitalize an entire third-world village? Are you already a gallon donor? Did you build a dog park? Because I—"

"Oh, for God's sake," Brynn sighed. "Yes, Kevin, I know you built a dog park. You've made that very clear. The entire world knows you built a dog park, and the people of Ogden are just so damn thankful they don't have to drive to one of the other dog parks in town. Do you want a fucking medal?" She looked up at him, brow arched. "That wasn't a rhetorical question, by the way—here you go." She reached back down into her bag and pulled out a plastic dollar-store medal, the words _#1_ _Champ!_ garishly displayed across the front, and—much to Kevin's distaste—draped it around his neck. "There, I've been keeping that on hand that just for you. Number one champ. You're finally validated."

Kevin scowled at her for one long moment before ripping the medal off and tossing it back onto her desk. "What's wrong with you?" he snapped. "No, really, who hurt you to make you so damn awful?"

Before Brynn could respond, the professor stepped inside the classroom and abruptly shut the door. "Good afternoon," he droned, slipping on his bifocals and unceremoniously dropping a stack of syllabi on the first occupied desk to be passed around the room "I'm Dr. Brenner, and this is Org Chem I. If you're registered for this class, then it goes without saying you're registered for my lab. Much like your previous chemistry classes, while they're graded separately the two go hand-in-hand, and you cannot succeed in one without participating in the other. Now then," He looked up from the syllabus in his hands, sharp eyes taking in every student in the room. "Let's dive right in. Hope you're happy with the person you're currently sitting by; they'll be your lab partner for the duration of the semester. Now occasionally we'll be working in large groups as well, but the majority—"

He frowned as a commotion sounded from the middle of the room. In swift unison, Kevin and Brynn had both darted up one row to the seats on either side of the two people in front of them. Kevin then quickly composed himself and flashed the girl on his right—hopefully his new lab partner—a bright smile. "Hi, Megan," he said.

She shook her head and looked up at the professor. "I didn't ask for this," she said.

Dr. Brenner gave Kevin a long, thoughtful gaze over the rim of his glasses, then shifted his eyes over to Brynn and gave her the same treatment. "Let me guess," he said. "Mr. Price and Miss DeMarco. That's right, I was warned about the two of you. Back to your seats."

"Wait, but—"

"Mr. Price. Let's get one thing straight. I never allow students to choose their partners. My class helps prepare future scientists for the working world, and in that word, I can guarantee you'll have to work with people you don't like. I've been gracious enough to select partners based on seat choice, something you had full control over when you entered this room. You and Miss DeMarco took a risk sitting together, and now you have to accept the consequence. Have I made myself clear?" When Kevin and Brynn nodded, he went on, "Excellent. Now back to your seats."

Brynn sighed and stood up, begrudgingly sliding back into her original seat. Kevin hesitated before slowly doing the same.

"I hate you," Kevin hissed as Dr. Brenner continued on with his spiel.

"Really? This is all your fault. You're the one who sat next to me, dipshit."

"Is there still a problem?" Dr. Brenner snapped. "Do you two have something to share with the rest of us? Go on, speak up."

"No, sir," Kevin mumbled. "Sorry."

He then spent the rest of the period alternating between following along with the introductory lecture and glaring at Brynn from the corner of his eye.

* * *

_That Afternoon_

"Oh my gosh, this year is _awesome_!" Arnold told Kevin as he settled into his dining hall seat and dug into his cheeseburger. "Quentin's cool. Kind of quiet, and really Mormon, but cool. Not as cool as you, though. And sociology was so much fun! Didn't you think it was fun? Dr. Cline is so awesome, right?"

"Yeah, she's cool," Kevin replied.

" _ **Super**_ cool! Hey, maybe that's what my major should be. Sociology!"

"Oh, yeah? You want to be a sociologist, huh?"

"Yeah, it'd be fun! Travel around, study people, talk to them. I could do that, no problem."

"I think there's more to it than that, actually."

"Okay, debbie downer. Anyway, it's not like I've made up my mind. I like my public speaking class too, so maybe that'll be my major."

"Communication?"

"No." Arnold shook his head. "Public speaking, like I just said."

"Isn't that part of communication?"

"Stop correcting me! So anyhow, how was your day?"

"Awful." Kevin stabbed angrily at his salad. "Brynn's my chem lab partner. Again."

"Really? Aw, that sucks, buddy!" He opened up his bag of chips and suddenly chuckled. "Oh hey, I just had a thought about Brynn! She should marry someone with the last name Polo. And then hyphenate her name. Because then she'd be Brynn DeMarco-Polo! Get it?"

He laughed, and Kevin glared. "Is that all you have to say about this?" he said.

"Sorry." Arnold quickly sobered up. "So how'd you two get paired up again?"

"I sat next to her."

Arnold frowned. "Well, what'd you do that for? If you didn't want to be—"

"It was an accident! It's not like I knew the professor would…" He drifted off and grumbled, shoving the salad aside and digging into his French fries.

"Hey guys!" They both looked up to see Connor standing nearby with a newcomer neither recognized at his side. "How were classes?" he asked as they took their seats at the table.

"Great!" Arnold answered, while Kevin simply responded with, "They were okay."

"That's good to hear. So, guys, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend—"

"No way!" Arnold cut him off, while Kevin froze in shock. "This is the boyfriend Naba mentioned? Awesome," Arnold carried on. "It's Steve Blade, isn't it? You finally found Steve again; good for you, Connor!"

Connor's brow furrowed in confusion. "No," he said slowly. "What made you think I was looking for Steve? I haven't seen him in over a decade, I don't even remember him that well, and I'm guessing he's still in Idaho. No, this is Ira Gotfrey. We met over the summer; he lives in Layton and went to high school with Poptarts. Ira, this is Kevin and Arnold."

Ira smiled and nodded. "How's it going?" he asked.

"Oh, okay, so it's a whole new guy. That's so cool!" Arnold continued to chatter about how great this was, while Kevin simply stared between the two.

Ira Gotfrey was tall, blond, and perfectly fit without being too muscular. He had friendly green eyes and a confident smile, and Kevin hated him. "Whatever happened to that other guy, Connor?" he asked, cutting Arnold off. "The one you had dinner with last semester."

"You mean Matt?" Connor asked, tilting his head. "I didn't know you knew about him. We talked a couple times after that, but it didn't work out. Then he transferred to some school in Denver, since apparently we aren't political enough here."

"Wait." Arnold frowned. "There's a Matt, too? Steve, Matt, _**and**_ Ira? That's a lot of guys, Connor."

"It's really not," Connor replied. "Especially since one of them was just a fifth grade crush."

"Yeah, whatever. Careful, buddy, you're becoming the Taylor Swift of the Weber State gays."

Connor grinned. "So you're saying I'm talented, beautiful, rich, and loved by millions? That's so sweet of you, Arnold."

"I don't know about the rich part," Ira teased. "Does Taylor have to hustle for tips at Olive Garden?"

"Hey, now. I don't hustle for tips; my customers love me and give them freely." Connor playfully threw a french fry in his face—which Ira caught with his teeth—and Kevin suppressed an eye roll.

This was so much worse than when he'd seen Connor and that Matt guy in the restaurant. At least then, when Connor had never mentioned him afterward, Kevin could assume that nothing came of it. But now this Ira jerk was right here in front of him, and he was every bit as handsome as Kevin himself, and Connor was calling him his boyfriend. _Get over it_ , he told himself. _You are not attracted to Connor McKinley. You don't care if he has a boyfriend._ He steeled himself and tried to focus on the conversation.

"So how'd you two meet, anyway?" Arnold was asking.

"Well, he came in to Olive Garden with his parents one day, and I was their server," Connor explained. "It was pretty typical until he came back next day by himself to order takeout. And the day after that." Connor laughed and looked over at Ira, intertwining their fingers while Kevin gritted his teeth behind a forced smile. "The last time I brought his check, he told me he'd double the tip if I gave him my number."

"And it totally worked, didn't it?" Ira said.

"Aw, that's so cute!" Arnold replied. "Also, you've known Poptarts since forever, right Ira? What's that been like? Have people always called him Poptarts?"

"I've known _**of** _ him forever," Ira explained. "We ran in different circles, never really talked much. And nobody called him that in school, no."

"For real? Weird, I can't believe people called him by his name. Huh. So what's your major, Ira? Are you doing musical theatre like Connor?"

"Nope." Ira took a large bite out of the apple on his tray. "Psychology."

"Oh really?" Kevin challenged. "What exactly are you gonna do with that?"

Ira shrugged. "Who knows? Study people's minds. Figure out what makes them tick." He looked Kevin up and down and asked, "What exactly are you doing with _**your**_ major?"

"He's gonna go to med school and become a doctor," Connor replied.

"Yeah, Kevin's super smart," Arnold said. "He got accepted at Baptist Bible College!"

"Oh, yeah?" Ira gave him a puzzled look. "You were gonna be a doctor at Baptist Bible College?"

"It was actually Georgetown," Connor told him. "Kevin got into Georgetown."

"No, I got into Johns Hopkins." Kevin picked up his plate, still half full, and stood up. "And now I have to study. It was nice meeting you, Ira. I'll see you guys later."

* * *

_Later That Evening_

Though he liked his roommate Quentin well enough, Arnold decided early on that he was going to spend most of his time in Kevin's room. Which he was doing right now, flopped down on the bed reading _The Hobbit_ for the umpteenth time while Kevin took notes from his chem book.

"I'm so happy for Connor, aren't you?" Arnold said. "It's nice to see him getting out more. And Ira's nice, don't you think so?"

"Sure," Kevin replied.

"He's a good boyfriend for Connor. He seems smart and he's got a good sense of humor. Plus he's hot—not that _**I** _ think he's hot, but for someone who's into guys I guess he'd be—"

"Okay, Arn, I get it. He's just fantastic," Kevin said sourly, and Arnold frowned.

"What, you don't like him?"

"I never said that."

"Yeah, but you sounded like it," Arnold answered. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing," Kevin sighed. "He seems okay, I just…I don't know."

"What, do you think it's just an act? You think he secretly killed his parents or something?" His eyes widened. "Uh oh, he killed his parents, didn't he?"

"What? No, that's not—"

"Oh, man, you think that's why Connor's with him? You think he wants Ira to kill _**his**_ parents, too? It makes sense after what they did, and I've always suspected he's got a dark side—"

"Arnold. Stop. Nobody killed anyone's parents; why would you even _**think**_ that?" Kevin shook his head and rubbed his temples. "Look, I just don't like him, okay? I don't know why; I just don't."

Oh. Arnold knew what this was about. Kevin was jealous. Truth be told, Arnold would've also preferred that Connor date Kevin over some stranger, but either way, he wasn't about to begrudge his friend happiness. Then again, he wasn't the one with a crush he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge. Choosing his words carefully, he approached Kevin and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, buddy," he said. "You'll find someone."

Kevin stiffened. "I never said—"

"I know. But I'm telling you anyway."

Kevin didn't respond to that, but he did lean his head against Arnold's shoulder. They remained like that for a few minutes before Arnold returned to the bed and picked up his book once more.


	14. Pope, Cunningham, and Associates

_**Sophomore Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 14: Pope, Cunningham, and Associates**

"You won't believe how nervous I am." Naba's voice crackled over the speaker of Connor's phone. "I know I still have time to prepare for the exam, but there is so much to know! How will I remember it all?"

"You'll do great." Connor unlocked his door, having just returned from his last class of the day. "Trust me, you're gonna knock those GED people's socks off. Want me to quiz you?"

"Ugh, no, not today. I'm sick of that shit." Connor laughed at that, then tossed his bag onto the bed and took a seat at his desk chair.

"How are your classes?" Naba asked.

"They're okay. Except general chem. It's the last science class I'll ever have to take, thank God, but it's just as bad as I expected."

"Make Kevin tutor you."

"Oh, I plan to." Connor uncapped a highlighter and began absent-mindedly perusing his stage costuming textbook. "Speaking of Kevin, he and Arnold met Ira yesterday at dinner."

"Did they? Arnold didn't say anything about it last night. Of course, he was more invested in his Minecraft game than our conversation. This is why we usually text." She giggled and added, "Did they like him? I'm sure Arnold did; he was such a charmer when I met him."

"He did," Connor chuckled, remembering how the two chatted practically nonstop for the remainder of the dinner after Kevin left. "Kevin, on the other hand...well, I don't know. He was acting a bit odd." A bolded vocabulary word caught his attention, and he ran his marker along the entire sentence.

"Was he? Arnold said he's been kind of grumpy lately."

"He really has." Connor had picked up on that the day they moved in for RA training, which was strange in and of itself. While several students were a bit glum about the loss of their summer freedom, Kevin had spent those months taking Intro to Lit and complaining about living with his family 24/7, so the new school year shouldn't have bothered him. As the days progressed, he'd only grown more irritable. It wasn't obvious to the casual passerby, but anyone who knew him well enough could detect the change. "He's got a lot on his plate this semester," Connor said. "And I don't think he likes being an RA."

"He'll get through it," Naba replied. "He's used to being under pressure. Maybe he just needs to have some fun! None of you are working this Saturday, right? I think you should come down to Salt Lake for the day. We can go shopping and see a movie."

"That sounds fun." After realizing he'd highlighted all but four sentences on the page in front of him, Connor gave up on multitasking and tossed the marker aside. "I'm broke, though."

"Then we won't go anywhere expensive. We'll get something from the RedBox and watch it at Arnold's house instead. You can bring Ira along, too! I want to get to know him better. What are his parents like? Did you meet them this summer?"

"No. Not unless you count that first day his family came into Olive Garden. Which I don't."

"That makes sense, it was still early. But what about now? Are you going to see them any time soon?"

Connor hesitated. "Probably not. He hasn't come out. Not to them, at least."

"He hasn't told his family he's gay?"

"Bi, actually. And no."

"Hmm." Connor could practically see the doubtful expression on her face. "I thought you said you weren't going to date anyone who wasn't out. You said you were done hiding, remember?"

"Well, yeah, but," Connor wracked his brain for an explanation, then sighed. "I don't exactly have a lot of options here. And Ira's great, even if I'd prefer he be more open. Can you really blame him, though? After what happened with me?"

Naba was silent for a few seconds. "I suppose," she relented. "As long as you're happy."

Connor smiled. "I am, Naba," he said. "I'm very happy."

* * *

_Saturday Morning_

Kevin's first official week of the semester had been a bit challenging, to say the least. He couldn't quite figure out why, but it was so much harder to focus this semester, as if he'd lost his motivation at some unidentified point between Fourth of July and RA training. He wasn't about to let his grades slip, of course, but suddenly every assignment, chapter, and classroom discussion took twice the effort, and Kevin wasn't okay with that at all. He couldn't afford a slump right now, not with so much at stake. Therefore, with the arrival of his first real weekend, Kevin had every intention of spending half the day in bed in hopes of gaining back some of his energy.

That was why, when Arnold started pounding on his door at 10:15 a.m. telling him to hurry up, they were going to Salt Lake, he was most certainly not amused.

"Kevin!" The young man in question groaned and buried his head under his pillow as Arnold continued to knock. "Come on, buddy, how can you still be asleep? We've got stuff to do! Everyone's going; you, me, Ira, Connor, everyone! Rise and shine, pal!"

"Go away," Kevin whined, burrowing down further in the covers.

"Let me in, or I'll just borrow Connor's master keys."

"He doesn't have the master keys right now," Kevin snapped. "He's not on duty."

"Oh." The knocking ceased for a few blissful seconds before starting up again. "Well, let me in anyway!"

Huffing in irritation, Kevin forced himself out of bed and stumbled toward the door. Once he'd unlocked it and swung it open, he gave Arnold his best glare. "I'm not going."

"Sure you are. You have to drive."

"Make Connor drive."

"He's doesn't have much gas."

"Then make **_Ira_** drive."

If Arnold noticed the way he'd spat out the name, he didn't mention it. "His car's too small; he`s got one of those dinky convertible things."

"Then take the train," Kevin said, turning around and flopping back down on the bed.

"I don't wanna take the train," Arnold argued. "Come on, Kev, if I go without you I'm gonna feel like a third wheel. You know that."

"You'll be meeting Naba there, right?" Kevin pulled the covers back up. "So if I go then **_I'm_** gonna feel like the third wheel. Or fifth wheel, whatever."

"What? No, Naba and I won't act couple-ish at all, promise. Come on, go with us, please?"

"Arn, I'm tired," Kevin sighed. "If you wanted me to go then you should have told me about this sooner."

"Aw, did you stay up super late?" Arnold took a seat in the chair. "What time did you go to bed last night?"

"Eleven."

Arnold did a double-take. "For real? Kevin, you've been sleeping over eleven hours!"

"Yeah, well, I'm still tired," Kevin snapped. "So leave me alone."

"Get your butt out of bed, lazybones. Don't make me sit on you."

That gave Kevin pause. "Don't you dare sit on me."

"I'm gonna do it." Arnold stood up and started for the bed menacingly. "Here I go! Oh, hey, check out this nice comfy spot right here on the bed—"

"Stop! Okay, okay, fine," Kevin gave in, sitting up before Arnold could plop down on his torso. "Happy?"

"Awesome!" Arnold started for the door. "Come on, let's go."

"Hold up, I've gotta get ready first."

"Nah, you're good the way you are."

Kevin looked over at the mirror and gave his appearance a once-over, taking in his bedhead, faded pajama pants, wrinkled old BYU shirt, and unbrushed teeth with his night guard still in his mouth. He then gave Arnold a blank look.

"Ugh, fine." Arnold heaved a dramatic sigh. "I swear, first you don't even wanna go, and now you think you've gotta be beautiful. Whatever, just make it quick."

* * *

_Thirty Minutes Later_

The second the four boys came within view of Kevin's car, Arnold called out "Shotgun!" and bolted toward the front passenger side.

"Nice car." Kevin couldn't tell if Ira was looking over his old Honda with admiration or condescension. "Your mom's old ride, I presume?"

"My granddad's, actually." Kevin unlocked the vehicle and wondered what exactly that little comment was supposed to mean. "He bought a new car and gave this one to me instead of trading her in."

Ira smirked as he and Connor slid into the backseat. "Oh, it's a she, is it?"

"Her name is Gretel," Arnold clarified. "One of his cousins got Hansel."

"Cute," Ira laughed. Kevin started up the car and backed out out of the parking space in silence.

"So, Arnold," Connor spoke up cheerfully. "How's sociology going? Naba says you're thinking about majoring in it."

"Yeah, I was. But no, not anymore. I liked it better before we picked our teams for the big group paper. Kevin and I got stuck with some random guy. And then we had to pick team names, except it was really dumb. We all had to follow a formula thing where one member lists their favorite color—that was me—then the second says their favorite animal, and the last one—that was Kevin—says something they can't live without. I told him he couldn't pick Orlando, Disney, coffee, or hairspray, so now we're the Orange Bald Eagles of the New Kelly Clarkson Album."

Connor laughed. "You guys should get t-shirts," he said. "But is that really a good reason to give up on a major you're interested in?"

"Well, no, but I don't think I'm interested in it anymore," Arnold said. "I'm thinking I should do political science! I did okay in my government class last year, and it makes sense, right? Since, you know, I was the prophet and all, so maybe the next step is becoming a politician. Change the world, get things done, become president one day. Wouldn't that be cool?"

"I don't know," Connor said doubtfully. "Poli-sci sounds like a terrible field; haven't you seen _Scandal_?"

Ira snorted. "Okay, I know that's your favorite show," he began, a grin playing on the corners of his lips. "But you do realize it's not a documentary, right?"

Connor snapped his head over to face Ira and narrowed his eyes. "Shut up."

"Trust me, Arnold, you would hate being a politician," Kevin chimed in. "But hey, that's Brynn's minor. You could take classes with her; how fun would **_that_** be?"

"You mean Brynn DeMarco?" Ira asked. "I love Brynn DeMarco."

"Do you?" Kevin's voice involuntarily went up a notch. "You know her, huh? How'd you two meet?" _Did you crawl out of the same cavern in hell together_? He chose not to voice that part aloud.

"We had a fling last fall. She never mentioned you."

"I didn't know her back then." _That was a happier time in my life_. Again, he felt this was better left unsaid.

"You were with Brynn?" In the rearview mirror, Kevin saw Connor shift uncomfortably and give Ira with a tight smile. "You never told me that."

"Why would I?" Ira shrugged. "I didn't know you knew her. You've never mentioned her."

"Well maybe not, hon, but I talk about Jami all the time. Surely that should have given you some indication that I know her."

Ira frowned. "Jami who?"

"Jami Jackson. Brynn's roommate from last year. And this year. They live off campus now with some other girl, but, you know..." When Ira continued to look perplexed, he added in exasperation, "You met her on Tuesday!"

"Oh, that frumpy girl?" Connor glared at that, and Ira quickly went on, "I didn't know she was her roommate. It's not like I dated Brynn; we just slept together a few times. By the way, Kevin, do you always drive at exactly the speed limit?"

Kevin gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Yes, Ira, I always drive at exactly the speed limit," he said through gritted teeth. "It's called a limit for a reason."

"Leave him alone, he's just trying to be safe," Connor said. "So, Ira, you're saying you only told me about your prior relationships if it was someone I knew? Because I thought we were being completely honest with each other. I've gave you the full story about who I've slept with in the past, but apparently you—"

_Wait, Connor's not a virgin anymore_? Right as Kevin was thinking this, Ira cut in with "Do you really want to do this right now?" and Arnold blurted out, "No, way, Connor, you had the sex? I didn't know you had the sex!"

Kevin watched Connor's reflection in the mirror as he glanced toward the front seat in surprise, like he'd briefly forgotten Kevin and Arnold were still in thecar. His face reddened, and he mumbled something under his breath about not planning to advertise it to the world. Undeterred, Arnold turned to Kevin. "Did you know he'd had the sex?" he asked.

"Why do you keep putting the word _the_ before it?" Kevin asked flatly. Arnold ignored that and craned his head back toward Ira. "Ira, did you know?"

"Yes, Arnold, I did know," Ira said cooly. "As he just said, he told me." Then he looked over at Connor and grinned. "Plus, there was last night…"

"Ira, stop," Connor hissed.

"Not to mention the other day—"

" ** _Shut up._** "

Ira laughed and relented. Kevin stared ahead at the highway and told himself that the things he'd just learned didn't bother him at all. Of course he'd known this would happen, especially now that Connor was in a relationship. What did it matter to him if other people had been way more intimate with Connor than he ever would be? Why was he even thinking about this?

He hated Arnold so much for making him get out of bed today.

* * *

_A Couple Weeks Later_

"Okay, I think that's all we can do for now." Brynn slapped the cover of her iPad shut. "Just type up your section and email it to me."

"Mmhm." Kevin flipped dully through the copy of Emile Durkheim's _The Division of Labor in Society_ he'd plucked from a shelf on the way into the library study room where he and Brynn were currently hashing out a lab report.

His apathetic demeanor gave Brynn pause, and she squinted at him in suspicion. "Don't we usually fight over who gets to be the compiler?" she asked. "What the hell is wrong with you? You've been slow as shit all night." She snatched up the book and glanced at the cover before tossing it back down on the table. "That's not even the right subject!"

"My sociology professor mentioned it in class." Kevin rested his chin in his hand. "We have a test in two days."

Brynn narrowed her eyes, but an alert from her phone signaling a new text diverted her attention.

There was no way the book would actually be on the exam, but at this point Kevin was looking for anything to spark his motivation. For as long as he could remember, Kevin had adhered to a five-day test prep routine, and aside from a select few instances, it had served him well. As such, there was no reason to stray from that system now. Yet here he sat, two days before exam time, and he had squat. He hadn't even made flashcards, his go-to method of preparation. And to top it off, he was behind on the readings. As the test drew nearer Kevin felt a growing sense of panic from having done so little, combined with a crippling sense of anxiety that prevented him from actually fixing the problem. It was embarrassing, really. He was Kevin Price, damn it, and a simple gen ed class should most definitely not be an issue.

Heck, he shouldn't have been struggling with any of the problems he was facing. He shouldn't have been waking up every morning feeling like he'd been hit by a semi truck the night before. He shouldn't have been feeling like it took everything he had just to write decent notes in class, much less read the assigned chapters. And he most certainly should **_not_** have been thinking up creative new ways for Ira to die every time he caught the other in his line of sight.

It had been almost two weeks since that awful shopping trip, and since then Connor and Ira had been practically glued at the hip. But why should Kevin care? It's not like he was hoping for the relationship's demise. He just didn't like Ira, that's all. Because...well, because of reasons. His personality. Yeah, that was it. Not that he knew much about his personality—that would involve spending time with him, an activity Kevin tried to avoid whenever possible. And all of his friends were too biased to say anything negative about him. No, if Kevin wanted dirt on Ira, a justifiable reason to hate him, he'd have to get it from someone less invested in Connor's happiness. Someone who wasn't worried about hurting anyone's feelings. Someone like...Kevin looked up at the girl sitting across from him, and realization struck.

"Hey, Brynn, what do you know about Ira Gotfrey?" Kevin asked. "He said you slept together last year."

Brynn gave him a quizzical look. "He's with Connor now, right?" She smirked. "Jealous?"

"No," he snapped.

"That's the only reason you'd be scouring around for more info on him like some freak stalker. Unless you're suspicious of him."

"Yeah, it's that one," Kevin quickly replied, and she gave him a dubious look.

"Please, like you've got any reason to be suspicious," she deadpanned.

"Just tell me what you know about him," Kevin said.

She shrugged. "There's not much to tell. He's the same age as you, lives in Layton, did a mission in Portugal. His parents are Mormon and he isn't, but he puts on the devout goody-two-shoes act for them. Honestly, it's not like I know him that well; what exactly do you want me to tell you? His dick's fairly average, but he's pretty good at using it—"

"Okay, enough."

"Well, that's it, then. That's all I know. Get over your sad little crush."

She stood up and began gathering her things. Kevin glared at her in silence until her bag was packed up and slung over her shoulder.

"I don't have a crush," he said.

"Okay, Kevin."

"No, really. I'm not even—why would you even—"

"Because I like to fuck with you. Case in point," she swung open the door and paused in the doorway. "You actually do have a good reason to be suspicious of Ira. He is a drug dealer, after all." And with that, she was gone.


	15. Friends and Family Discount

_**Sophomore Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 15: Friends and Family Discount**

Kevin sat motionless in his chair, staring at the doorway, mouth agape.

_**What**_?!

He remained like that for a whole minute before snapping back to his senses, then he quickly threw everything into his bag and hurried out of the room. He knew Brynn had left the library by now, so he rushed down the steps toward the exit, only to come to a swift halt as the sensors at the door let out a shriek. Cursing under his breath, he noticed the Durkheim book still in his hands.

One of the desk attendants gave him a glare. "Are you gonna check that out or just stand there?" she asked.

Huffing in frustration, he simply tossed the book onto the counter, then he sped out the doors and raced toward the nearest commuter lot.

"Brynn!" he called when he spotted her figure. "Brynn, wait up, damn it!"

She stopped and turned around just as he caught up. "Thought you were gonna keep working," she said casually.

"Are you screwing with me?" he said. "You just told me my friend's boyfriend is a drug dealer. Is that true, or are you screwing with me?"

"It's true," she said, spinning back around and continuing on the path toward her car. Kevin matched pace with her. "Prescription pills, mostly. Also pot. Nothing crazy."

"How do you know that? Have you bought from him before? Are you a drug dealer, too?"

"No. On both counts, actually. I know you think I'm the epitome of all debauchery in the whole damn world, but you'll be surprised to hear I only know because he told me."

"And why are you telling _**me**_?" Kevin pressed on.

"Because you asked, dumbass."

"Okay, so what am I supposed to do about it?"

"I don't know." Brynn hit a button on her key remote, and her Toyota unlocked with four beeps and one flash of the lights. "And I don't care. Do with it what you will."

She opened up the driver's side door and slid inside, then shut it and started up the car. Not about to be ignored, Kevin opened up the passenger door and took a seat.

She stared at him with the perfect mix of disdain and incredulity. "Get the fuck out of my car."

Never taking his eyes off of her, he shut the door and buckled his seat belt. "I'm not finished talking to you," he snapped. "If you didn't want me in your car you shouldn't have unlocked all the doors."

"Whatever." She raced out of the lot faster than Kevin would have liked. "I'm driving to my apartment, and when I get there I'm gonna lock you out. Then you can walk your ass back to campus on your own."

"Fine, I don't care. And why should I believe you? About Ira, I mean. How do I know you're not just trying to freak me out?"

"Why would I tell you Connor's boyfriend's a drug dealer to fuck with your head?" she asked. "I can do so much better than that. I could fake a BBC News article about a tiny, unnamed village in northern Uganda being completely wiped out by Ebola, or start a rumor that Arnold sneaks under your covers when you're asleep and gives you blow jobs."

Kevin wrinkled his nose in disgust and chose not to comment. If Ira really was a dealer, then did Connor know? Probably not, there was no way he'd associate himself with that. This could break them up so easily…

He snapped out of his reverie when a familiar flash of red flew past his line of vision. "You ran a stop sign," he told Brynn in disapproval.

"Fuck you and your morals. No cop no stop, bitches."

"Should I tell Connor?"

"That I ran a stop sign? Not sure what he's gonna do about it."

"You know what I mean, stupid."

She shrugged. "If you want to."

He chewed his bottom lip in thought. Would Connor believe him? He seemed to like Ira a lot. What would Kevin even sound like? _Hi Connor, you're boyfriend's a drug dealer. No, I don't have proof; I just know because Brynn told me so. Sorry for your luck._ Maybe if he could get Jami to confirm what Brynn said…of course, Ira didn't even recognize her name the other day, so she probably didn't know him well enough. Wait, why was he even worrying about trivial details like what to tell Connor? Ira was selling _ **drugs**_ , for heaven's sake; shouldn't he call the police? Then again, he didn't have any evidence. And he wasn't even entirely sure he believed Brynn. Was there a penalty for accidentally giving a false accusation? How stupid would he look to Connor if he started an investigation that turned out to be entirely unfounded?

"Well," Brynn's clipped tone jarred him out of his thoughts, and he looked out the window to see that, much to his surprise, they were parked in front of his residence hall. "I decided to drop you off anyway. Never say I didn't do anything nice for you. Now get the hell out of my car."

Still slightly in a daze, Kevin thanked her and stepped out of the car, then stood motionless on the curb as she sped away.

What the heck was he supposed to do?

* * *

_The Next Day_

"What's your zombie apocalypse plan?" Arnold asked Kevin, taking a seat at their usual lunch table in the dining hall.

"What do you mean?" Kevin asked.

"Well, you know, what are you gonna do when the zombies come?"

Kevin shrugged. "I don't know. Worry about it later, I guess?"

"Hmm." Arnold nodded, clearly unimpressed. "So, what you're saying is, you're gonna die."

"Oh, come on, it's not like a zombie apocalypse is ever actually gonna happen."

"Uh huh. Yeah, you keep telling yourself that as the zombies eat your face. That smarty-pants brain of yours won't be so awesome when it's zombie food, now will it? Just so you know, I have a very detailed survival plan, so I guess you can just tag along with me. A lot of people say that if they were running from the zombies and their best friend tripped, they'd leave them behind. But I wouldn't leave you behind; I'd stop and help."

"Aw, thanks, buddy," Kevin said.

"Yep. If you become a zombie, though, all bets are off. I'm gonna have to blow you up." He paused to take a bite of his pasta, then groaned and slumped back in his seat. "Oh man, we've got that sociology test tomorrow. I haven't studied at all, have you? Who am I kidding; you probably have everything memorized already. I think I'm just gonna wing it."

Kevin kept quiet as he picked at the turkey sub on his plate. He'd meant to study the night before, but he couldn't get his mind off of what Brynn had said about Ira. Feeling overwhelmed, he'd found himself curled up in his bed in tears of frustration, clutching his childhood stuffed otter until he fell asleep. As much as he hated to admit it, this wasn't the first time Kevin had cried himself to sleep this semester, and he couldn't quite figure out why. Aside from the addition of his RA duties, his workload hadn't changed much this semester. So why was everything so much harder?

"Kevin? Hey, Kev, you listening? Kevin!" Arnold's voice snapped him back to reality.

"Sorry, what?" Kevin asked.

"I was talking to you! I asked if you'd take me to the store this weekend. I'm ran out of toothpaste last week, and I think Quentin's starting to notice I've been stealing his."

"Okay, yeah, sure."

Arnold peered at him and frowned. "You okay, bestie?"

"Mm hm." Kevin looked over his food with a queasy feeling in his stomach, and couldn't decide if he wasn't hungry at all or completely ravenous. "Just tired."

* * *

_That Evening_

The library was eerily quiet as usual, and that was exactly what Kevin needed right now. With his sociology book and notes scattered across the study room table, he creased his brow in determination. This was the last evening he had, so it was officially time to focus. None of his other obligations mattered; this wasn't the time to worry about Ira or Brynn or Connor or anyone else. So all he had to do was—

"Aren't these rooms reserved for group study?"

Kevin looked up to see Ira standing in the open doorway, leaning against the frame with a playful smile on his face. "Didn't take you for a rule breaker, no matter how trivial."

"Shut up," Kevin said, flipping through the few flashcards he'd actually managed to make.

Undeterred, Ira shut the door and took a seat. "I'll join you," he said. "Look at that; I guess we're a group. The librarians can rest easy."

Kevin stared down at his notes, his pulse racing. Damn it, why was this happening now? Why did Ira have to show up here, of all places? Kevin hadn't had a chance to figure out his plan of action regarding Brynn's information, and now, when he needed to study, it was all he could think about. What was he going to do? Surely he couldn't just—

"Are you a drug dealer?" The words tumbled out of his lips before he could stop them, and Ira looked up in alarm. Well, then. No going back now. "I heard you were."

Ira stiffened and looked over at Kevin with wary eyes. "Why would you ask that?" he said slowly.

"Just answer the question."

" _I heard you were_ is a little vague, isn't it? That's a very serious accusation. Why don't you tell me exactly what—"

"Ira, I really don't have time for this right now," Kevin snapped, and standing up to glare down at him. Now that he had started, he couldn't bring himself to stop. "I have things to do, okay? I have two calc III problem sets due, a microbio lab report to finish, and a huge sociology test tomorrow morning. Except for some stupid reason my brain's shut down, so I can't focus on any of it! Oh, and you know what's even better? I'm on duty this weekend! Have you ever been an RA, Ira? It sucks. I'm only doing it so I can list it on my resume, and it totally, completely sucks. So as you can see, I don't have time for you to be your usual dumbass self. Now tell me whether you're a damn drug dealer or not."

Ira continued to stare at Kevin with his eyebrows raised for a moment, then he quickly glanced back toward the door. Upon confirming it was shut, his mouth curved upward in a sly smile. "Sounds like you're looking to buy from me," he said.

Kevin blinked rapidly. "What?" he deadpanned. "No, of course I'm not—that's the opposite—why would you even think that?"

Ira laughed and gestured toward Kevin's vacated chair. "Have a seat, Kevin," he said. When Kevin didn't move, he continued, "Or don't. Just stand there, right where you are. You know how many clients I have just like you? Straight-A students with big dreams—pre-med, pre-law, pre-what-have-you—who need to do whatever they can to give those grad school applications an extra kick?" He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "Ever heard of a little miracle worker called Adderall?"

Kevin rolled his eyes and spat, "Yes, I've heard of Adderall. Everyone and their grandma has heard of Adderall. It's a schedule II controlled stimulant used to treat ADHD, which I don't have, and can only be prescribed by a doctor. Last I checked, you don't have a medical license."

Ira shrugged. "Technically, you're supposed to have a prescription," he acquiesced. "And maybe you don't have full-blown ADHD, but didn't you just say you can't even properly study for a test in a freshman-level gen ed? That doesn't exactly sound normal, does it? Clearly, you need _**something**_. You're a smart guy; you know how to regulate your own medication—hell, isn't that one of the things you're planning to eventually do for other people? Just think about how much easier your life would be if you could just sit down and focus like you used to."

Kevin continued to give him his trademark glare, but he found himself wavering. Without really intending to, he slowly took a seat in his empty chair.

"What you're doing is a felony," he said. "I could have you locked up, you know that?"

"I suppose you could," Ira replied, unfazed. "If we weigh all our options, you could take one of four paths. In our first one, you do absolutely nothing. But let's face it, you're not gonna do that. Option two: you could make no change to your routine; you just have me arrested and keep trying and failing to get your act together all by yourself, wrecking your GPA and crushing all your hopes and dreams in the process. Option three: you could have me arrested and try to fix your problems through legal means, making an appointment with a specialist, getting tested and facing the possibility of them finding nothing wrong, then having to explain the whole thing to your parents when the bills arrive. Do you have a good relationship with your parents, Kevin? How understanding are they when you don't live up to their expectations?"

Kevin didn't respond, and Ira clucked his tongue sympathetically. "Meanwhile, months have passed, and you're failing everything, in the exact same boat as option three. Or…" he leaned forward, and his smirk widened. "Final option: you let me help you, get back into your old groove—better, even—and neither one of us faces any backlash whatsoever. It's a win-win, really. I'll even give you the friends and family discount." He grinned, showing off a mouthful of teeth fit for a Crest ad.

Kevin wanted to tell him to go to hell. He wanted to call the police and watch them cart this smirky little Cheshire cat far, far away, so he could never set foot on this campus or go anywhere near Connor ever again. But, then again…the thing was, he also just wanted to study.

"Can I ask you a question, Kevin?" Ira sensed his hesitance and grasped onto it. "What's your GPA right now? Is it a 4.0? I feel like you deserve a 4.0."

"3.9," Kevin reluctantly bit out.

"What a shame." Ira shook his head. "Came just a little short in one class, I take it? I'd hate for something like that to happen again."

So would Kevin. He hated that damn B; he hated it so very much.

"Tell you what," Ira said. "You don't have to decide right now. Here." He dug around in his bag, pulling out a button-size baggie with two round blue pills, which he slid across the table in front of Kevin. "My gift to you. There's a couple doses in there; try it out. If it doesn't help, then do whatever you want. And if it does, well…" he chuckled. "You know where to find me."

He stood up and made for the exit. Kevin stared down at the bag with a mixture of repulsion and fascination. "Ira," he croaked out, his voice slightly shaky. "Does Connor know about you?"

Ira paused in the doorway. "Connor doesn't know about a lot of things," he said. "About me, about you, about life. But hey, none of those things hurt him, so no harm done, right?" With one last grin, he was on his way.

* * *


	16. These Are a Few of My Favorite Pills

_**Sophomore Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 16: These Are a Few of My Favorite Pills**

None of it made any sense.

How was it possible that Kevin could take such meticulous notes in class, only for none of it to stick when it came time to study? Here he was, sitting at his desk at midnight trying desperately to cram in whatever he could before exam time, but no matter how many times he reread the page in front of him, his eyes would glaze over and his mind would wander and he would remember just how tired he was. Then, he would realize that fifteen minutes had passed with nothing to show for it.

Sighing heavily, he reached into his messenger bag for his green highlighter, only to stop short as the tiny baggie Ira gave him caught his eye. He faltered. _No_ , he told himself. _Get that idea out of your head. You_ _shouldn't have even taken them with you._

He grabbed the highlighter and turned back to his notes, hoping that some more color coding could jar his memory. As he marked up the page, however, his attention kept straying to those two unassuming pills.

_Oh, for heaven's sake._ He growled under his breath and stood, snatching up the baggie and heading out into the hallway. There was certainly one way he could get them off his mind for good. Pushing open the door to the empty communal bathroom, he headed toward the closest stall and ripped open the baggie, emptying the contents into his hand. However, as he held his fist out over the toilet, he found himself unable to unclench it. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the one thought screaming in his head louder than all the others.

_What if I need these_?

He knew it was stupid. Dangerous, even. But maybe…one couldn't hurt, right? If he just took one, right now, he could study for a few hours and then finally get some sleep. He could have all this information down by three if he was able to really concentrate, couldn't he?

Hand shaking and heart pounding, Kevin took a couple steps back until he was outside the stall, then looked over at his reflection in the mirror. He chewed his bottom lip, fully taking in his mussed hair and the dark circles under his haunted eyes. When did he start looking so… so damn desperate?

He open his hand, palm up, in front of him and started down at the two pills. They were so tiny; surely he would be fine. Steeling himself, he plucked one up before he could change his mind and tossed it into his mouth. The bitter tablet began dissolving the minute it hit his tongue. Kevin turned around and hurried back to his room, where he dropped the other pill onto his desk and swallowed a gulp of iced coffee. Then he took a seat, feeling absolutely no different than he had ten minutes ago. Stifling a yawn, he leaned back in his chair picked up his notes.

He wasn't sure when it happened, but after a while it occurred to him that he was actually reading, understanding, and remembering the material. For a moment, all he could do was blink in shock. Then he grinned and bit back a laugh. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he had his focus back. _I can do this._ He flipped the page of his notebook and read on.

* * *

_The Following Week_

"Connor!" Connor looked up from his laptop as Naba's voice and rushed footsteps carried down the hallway. He stood up and met her in his open doorway.

"Naba, hi! What's up? I didn't know you were coming up today; how'd the test go?"

"Look!" Breathless and grinning, she thrust a sheet of paper in his face. "I passed! Well, it is only the initial report, not the official one. But I know I did well on the writing, so I don't think it will change much. I did it, Connor!"

"O-M-Gosh, Naba, that's amazing!" He pulled her in for a tight hug. "I knew you could do it. I'm so proud of you! Wait until you tell your father."

"I will write to him tonight." They both stepped back and took a seat on the bed. "I took the train up as soon as I found out. I wanted to tell you before anyone else, even Arnold."

"Aww." Connor smiled. "I'm honored. Now you just have to decide where you'll be next semester."

Naba's smile faded to a thoughtful frown. "Last night at dinner," she began, leaning forward and resting her hands on her knees. "I told Arnold's parents I was thinking about going to SLCC to be a nurse. I asked them what they thought."

"And what did they say?"

"They told me to go there if that's what I wanted, but not to decide based on cost. They said they want me to do what I think is best for myself." She chuckled softly. "Well, Arnold's mom said that, anyway. His dad just grunted and nodded, so I assume he agrees."

"That's sweet of them," Connor said. "Okay then, what do you think is best for you?"

"That's the thing; I don't know! I don't need a fancy school or a big fat paycheck like Kevin; my goals are simple. I want to be a nurse, and I can achieve that at either school."

"Then which one would make you happier?"

Naba pursed her lips in thought. "I am not sure," she said. "I don't even know if I would get into Weber State."

"Honey, it's an open-admissions institution," Connor replied. "You'll get in. The RN program does have an application process, though, but I'm guessing SLCC's program has one, too. I'm not sure what they'll ask for. Why don't we go over the degree requirements for both schools so you have a better idea of what you're looking at?"

"You don't have to help me with all that," Naba quickly countered. "I know you are busy."

Connor grinned. "It's no big deal." He reached over to grab his laptop off the desk. "I love doing things like this." He pulled up both programs' pages on his web browser, while Naba smiled gratefully and scooted a little closer to see the screen.

* * *

Arnold looked over the grade report for his sociology exam and breathed a sigh of relief. "Check it out," he said, gesturing toward his computer. "82 percent. B-minus, baby! How'd you do?"

"Not bad." Kevin eyed the 91 on his screen and couldn't help but feel he should have done better. He quickly closed out of Canvas and grabbed his bag. "I've gotta run; I'll see you later."

He found Ira waiting for him at an isolated corner table in the union, trademark condescending grin plastered on his face. "Somehow I knew I'd be getting a text from you," he said.

"Shut up," Kevin said, pulling an envelope out of his bag and handing it over. Ira opened it up and flipped through the bills inside, then nodded in approval and handed him a bag full of those now-familiar tiny blue pills. "There you go," he said. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Now remember, one at a time. Don't overdo it."

"I know how to take medicine," Kevin dryly replied. He made to stand up, then paused. "Actually…" All those moments of utter hopelessness and desperation flashed through his mind and without really considering it, he found himself asking, "Do you have Ativan?"

Ira chuckled. "Wow, you really are a basket case, aren't you?"

Kevin glared. "How on earth does Connor put up with you?"

"Relax, it was a joke. Of course I have Ativan. You want a sample, or are you buying without trying?"

"I'll just buy it, same dosage as the Adderall. I don't want to have to come back to you anytime soon."

"Hey there, now look who's being an asshole. Don't make me cut you off; you won't get this cheaper anywhere else. I'm being very generous with you."

"Fine," Kevin sighed. "Want me to apologize?"

"No," Ira laughed. "I don't really care. Now then, you want me to tell you the new total, or do you plan on buying out the rest of the pharmacy?"


	17. Mean, Rude, Dumb, and Stupid

_**Sophomore Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 17: Mean, Rude, Dumb, and Stupid**

Midterms and Fall Break had come and gone, and Kevin felt great.

Okay, not exactly _**great**_. Good, maybe. He no longer felt on the verge of panic all the time, and the Adderall gave him the kick he needed to concentrate, at least. However, the moment the high wore off, all he wanted to do was sleep for a hundred years. So perhaps it still felt like he was treading water at times. But hey, at least he wasn't drowning anymore.

And he no longer wished Ira would go die in a fire somewhere. That was progress, right? Sure, everything Ira did irritated him beyond measure. And maybe Kevin spotted him kissing Connor the other day and wanted to gag. But the fact was, he needed Ira now, so he couldn't hate him. Yep, Kevin was definitely going to call that progress.

* * *

"Look what came in the mail today," Naba said, handing a letter over to Arnold. "It's my Weber State acceptance letter."

" _ **Really**_?!" Arnold tried his best to keep his voice down, since they were sitting on a couch in the res hall lobby with was a group of students studying at a nearby table. "That's awesome! I mean, yeah, they let in everyone, but still! Oh man, look at how far you've come. Your first college acceptance letter!"

"Second." Naba smiled and pulled another piece of paper out of her purse. "This one's from Salt Lake Community College. I applied to both schools, because I'm still not sure."

"Okay…well, obviously I want you to come here," Arnold said. Then he quickly added, "But it's not about what I want. I'll be happy with whatever you do, because more than anything else I want you to be successful." When she didn't respond, glancing between both letters, he continued, "I love you, Naba. And you're gonna make the right choice no matter what."

She looked at him with those big adoring eyes of hers and said, "Thank you. And I love you, too." She took the WSU letter from his hands and laid it flat on the coffee table in front of them, then placed the second letter there as well.

"They both have their positives and negatives," she said.

She was quiet for a long time after that, staring down at both letters with her chin in her hand and her lips pursed in thought. Just when Arnold was starting to wonder if she'd broken down somehow, she spoke.

"If I go to Salt Lake, I can live with your parents," she said. "And the truth is, I am not sure I can live with anyone else. I can't stay with you, Kevin, or Connor; the dorms do not allow that. And…well, the thought of living with an American stranger is a little scary, because I'm not sure I can identify with them. That's why I'm afraid to go to Weber State."

Arnold opened his mouth to tell her it was okay, he understood, and she didn't have to go there if she didn't want to. But then she continued.

"Which is why I probably have to suck it up and do it anyway. I need to face my fears."

"Wait—what—Naba, are you sure?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes," she said. "I will be brave, just like you."

"Oh, you're totally braver than me," he laughed. "Holy cow, this is the best day ever! I can't believe you're gonna be here next semester. Oh man, how cool is that!"

He engulfed her in a tight hug while the study group gave him a dirty look. Naba simply laughed and hugged him back.

"And hey," he said once they'd pulled apart. "Don't even worry about the whole stranger thing. Lots of people on my floor didn't know their roommates at first, and they get along great! I mean, Quentin and I aren't that close because he's kinda lame. But you'll have better luck, I'm sure! Anyone would have to be dumb not to like you. Actually…" he trailed off, cogs turning in his head. "Maybe it doesn't have to be a total stranger. Maybe you can take, I dunno, baby steps." He grabbed her hand and stood up, pulling her off the couch with him. "C'mon, I have an idea!"

* * *

_That Evening_

The speakers at the Mexican restaurant began playing yet another Mariachi song, its melody almost indistinguishable from the one that had just finished prior. As Kevin dully glanced around the table, he wondered what his pre-mission self would think of the crowd. His former district leader was on his second margarita of the evening, while said district leader's boyfriend—and Kevin's new drug dealer—dazzled Arnold, Naba, and Chris with the impressive yet ultimately useless ability to catch chips in his mouth.

"Let's put some salsa on these before we throw them," Chris suggested. "Raise the stakes."

"If you do that, you damn well better leave a bigger tip for the servers." Connor drained the rest of his drink and stabbed at the ice with his straw. "I think I want another one of these. Large this time."

"Okay, okay everyone, I have something to tell you," Naba said, a small smile on her face. "I suggested this dinner for a reason, after all." After a short pause for effect, she broke into an all-out grin and held up her acceptance letter. "I'm going to be joining you at Weber State!" She giggled and ducked her head sheepishly as they all broke out in applause.

"Naba, that's amazing!" Kevin said. "You're gonna be a great nurse."

"Well, I don't know about that," she countered, shrugging and folding up the letter. "There's no guarantee I'll get into the nursing program. I'll have to apply after completing the prerequisites."

Connor gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Don't worry about any of that," he said. "Just keep your grades up and we'll figure it out."

"Yeah, just do everything Connor tells you," Chris suggested. "He made my four-year plan, you know."

"Speaking of which, I've been meaning to bring that up." Connor took a sip of his new drink and eyed Chris over the rim of his glass. "Why aren't you in College Algebra this semester?"

Chris shifted under his challenging gaze. "I didn't want to take it this semester," he mumbled.

"You've been putting it off a while now. The School of Business says—"

"I know, I know, I'll take it next semester. The plan's flexible, right?"

"Is it?" Connor snapped narrowing his eyes indignantly. "Is your graduation date flexible, too?"

"Okay, you know what? I'm not talking to you about school anymore. I'll just go to my actual advisor, because she doesn't get weirdly pissy about these things like you."

"Fine," Connor replied.

"Okay, good."

"She's just gonna tell you to suck it up and take College Algebra—"

"So, Naba," Kevin quickly said before the argument could start up again. "You're living on campus, right? Got any idea who you'll be rooming with?"

"Actually, I won't be living on campus," Naba replied. "I spoke to Jami this afternoon. One of the girls in her apartment is graduating and moving to Nevada in December, so I will take over her lease."

"So, let me get this straight." Kevin frowned. "You're living with Jami?"

"Oh, hey, that's a good plan," Ira chimed in. "Look at that; you've got everything figured out already. Good for you, Naba."

"It was my idea," Arnold said proudly, and Kevin whipped around to face him.

"It was _**your**_ idea?" he said. "It's a terrible idea! That's the worst plan I've ever heard. You have bad ideas; go stand in the corner and think about what you've done. You don't get to finish your nachos."

"What? But I'm paying for them! Look, just hear me out—"

"Go stand in the corner, Arnold!"

Arnold slumped his shoulders and made to stand up, before swiftly being stopped by Naba.

"No, Arnold stay where you are," she said. Then she looked at Kevin and scowled. "Why is it such a bad idea, Kevin?" she snapped. "What's wrong with Jami?"

"Nothing. She's a total sweetheart. But Brynn'll be there."

"Yes, I will be living with both of them."

"Exactly! Trust me; you do _**not**_ want to live with Brynn. She's mean, and rude, and dumb, and stupid."

Ira shrugged. "I've never had a problem with her."

"Me neither," Chris agreed. "Mostly because she doesn't really acknowledge my existence one way or another."

"Oh, me too!" Arnold said. "High five." He raised his palm, and Chris gave it a slap. "What about you, Connor?"

"I don't know. Honestly, I'm still stuck on the fact that Kevin legitimately tried to put Arnold in the corner."

"Well that settles it, then," Naba continued. "You see, Kevin? None of us have a problem with her. You are the only one."

"There's no way that's true," Kevin argued. "She's rude to everyone. Heck, she called your village primitive on the day you met her, remember?"

Naba waved a hand dismissively. "That was a long time ago. The next time I saw her I told her to go fuck herself, and now she respects me as an equal."

"I'm telling you, this is a bad idea," Kevin persisted. "You don't know her like I do. None of you do!"

"Are you positive?" Arnold asked. "Because Ira's had the sex with her. So he probably knows her better, unless you had the sex with her too and didn't tell me. Did you? Oh my God, why didn't you tell me!?"

"What? No!" Kevin recoiled in disgust. "Oh my God, no. I can't even imagine."

"Are you sure?" Ira laughed. "She's kinda kinky."

"More kinky or less kinky than Connor?" Chris piped up.

"Don't answer that," Connor said, and Ira looked over at him with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"I kind of want to."

Connor smiled tightly. "Don't you dare."

"Aw, are you afraid of what the answer's gonna be, babe?" Ira taunted, smiling suggestively.

"Okay, I was just joking before," Chris said. "But now I really want to know."

"Yes, we all want to know, but we're getting off track," Naba spoke up, giving Kevin a determined glare. "We will come back to that question later. Kevin, I am not changing my housing plans, and you will have to accept that."

"But she's gonna turn you against me," Kevin whined. "Seriously, I think this is all just one giant scheme on her part to take all my friends away. First she's gonna get you against me, then you're gonna drag Arnold down with you, and then—"

"No way, never gonna happen," Arnold cut in. "I'll totally break up with Naba for you if I have to."

"No you won't," Naba snapped.

"Okay, then." Arnold gave a helpless shrug. "Sorry buddy, guess I can't."

"But really, Kevin, is that what you think this is all about?" Naba said. "It's not because, I doon't know, perhaps Jami and Brynn thought I would be a pleasant person to live with. No, it's because of you, right? All Kevin, all the time; that's all it is ever about when it comes to you."

Kevin sputtered in disbelief. "For your information, I've been selfless loads of times," he countered. "I'm the one that convinced everyone to stay at your village. I regularly volunteer at homeless shelters. Not to mention, I built a dog park, and dogs use it every day!."

"You mean that dog park down the street? The one with a big sign with your name on it, declaring to the entire town just how special you think you are?" Naba snapped. "Get over yourself and be happy for me. I am about to go to college and make some friends that aren't a bunch of white boys."

"Brynn and Jami are white, too."

"Yes, but they are not boys! I am sick of all my friends being men! I am going to live with Brynn and Jami, and that decision is final. If it turns out we do not get along, then that will be my problem, not yours."

"Actually, that's a really good point," Connor chimed in. "In the residence halls, a student can move into another room if there's a conflict beyond anything mediation can fix. How will that work with the lease in your apartment?"

As Naba launched into an explanation about the lease terms and expiration date, Kevin slumped back in his chair and sulked. Ira leaned toward him and whispered, "Chill out. Just take some Ativan and go with it."

"Shut up," Kevin growled.


	18. Whose X-Ray Is This?

**_Sophomore Year, Winter Break_ **

**Chapter 18: Whose X-Ray Is This?**

Connor held back a sigh, clutching his phone tightly in his hand as the beep signaled the end of the answering machine.

"Hi, Mom, Dad. Merry Christmas," he spoke, voice wavering a bit. "Look, I know you're not interested in having me back, but…well, I was hoping we could just talk. I'm doing well, I guess. I'm an RA this year and it's going great. But I miss you. I miss you a lot. And Audra, Jen, the cats, and everyone else. Anyhow, uh, I guess you have my number if you want to call me. Talk to you later, I hope." He ended the call and leaned his head back against the wall of the Thomases' guest bedroom, letting out a slow shaky breath.

"Don't you get tired of groveling to them?" Connor jumped at the sound of Ira's voice and turned to find him standing in the open doorway.

"Of course I do," he replied, tossing his phone onto the bed. "Guess I value them more than my pride, though. Wish they could say the same about me. How'd you get in here?"

"Poptarts let me in. Said you were up here."

"I didn't know they were all back from church," he said. "I didn't hear them come in. Speaking of which, isn't that where you're supposed to be? You know, with your parents?"

Ira shook his head. "I told them I was going to church with a friend."

"Liar."

"You love it." Ira flashed him a cocky grin and stepped forward, pulling Connor in for a long, deep kiss. Once they broke apart for air, he leaned his forehead against Connor's and whispered, "Merry Christmas."

Connor smiled and moved his hands down from Ira's shoulders to rest on his chest. "You too," he said. "You should get back to your family, though. They're gonna start wondering just how long that service takes."

"In a bit," Ira pulled a small wrapped box out of his coat pocket and handed it over. "Open your present first."

Connor gave a playful scoff and said, "I didn't know we were doing this now. Come on." He started for the door. "Yours is downstairs."

Before he could make it to the hallway, Ira pulled him back. "You first."

"Right here? Okay," Connor relented. He carefully unwrapped the silver paper and opened up the box, then did a double-take when he saw the elegant stainless steel watch inside. "Oh, gosh, it's gorgeous. Thank you," he said slowly. He looked closer at the face, black background with silver and blue accents, and frowned. "Hon, this is from Fossil. How on Earth could you afford this? You work 8 hours a week as a bank teller."

Ira shrugged. "They pay well. I get an allowance from my parents, too."

_The parents you aren't out to._ Connor pushed that thought aside and remembered the scarf he'd wrapped up for Ira downstairs, guilt welling up inside him. "This makes what I bought for you look like crap," he admitted.

"Hey now, Con, come on," Ira admonished. "I'm sure it's perfect. Now then, do you like the watch?"

"I do. I love it."

"Then that's all that matters." Ira leaned forward and captured Connor's lips in another kiss.

* * *

"Kevin!" Katie Price, the baby of the family at only six years old, rushed toward her brother in the foyer with tears of anger streaming down her face. "Scott keeps shooting me!"

Kevin bit back a frustrated groan. Christmas at the Price household could be perfectly summed up in only two words: crazy and loud. His father was currently out back frying the turkey and his mother was holed up in the kitchen making pies and side dishes, so that put Kevin, as the oldest, in charge of babysitting duty. He picked Katie up and gave his youngest brother a dirty look.

"Scott, stop shooting your sister," he snapped. "Come on, you're eleven now; you should know better." Scott merely laughed, then held up his brand new Nerf gun and shot their yellow lab square in the thigh. Kevin quickly added, "No hitting the dogs, either!"

"Milo doesn't mind," Scott protested. While it was true that Milo had barely even acknowledged the foam bullet, Kevin wasn't about to let him off the hook.

"What if it had hit him in the eye?" he said. "No more shooting live things, got it? Or breakables either, while we're at it. Mom and Dad got you the target board for a reason." He turned back to Katie, whom he still had balanced on his hip. At least she wasn't crying anymore. "Feel better, KayKay?"

She nodded. "I want a princess makeover!" she said.

"Sounds perfect." He ruffled her hair and set her down. "Why don't you go up to your room and make yourself all pretty? You can show me when you're finished."

She rushed toward the stairs, and Kevin felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He smiled when he saw the name on the screen, then hit the accept button and held it up to his ear. "Hi, Naba," he said, making his way into the living room where Jack and Andy were watching TV. "Merry Christmas!"

"Kevin, you are not going to believe this!" she cried, clearly out of breath, and Kevin's brow creased in concern as he settled into an armchair. "The Cunninghams, they…I've told so many people already but I still can barely believe, it seems so unreal—"

"What is it, Naba?" He leaned forward in his seat. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed. "Kevin, he is here! Baba! The Cunninghams, they paid for him to visit Salt Lake City over Christmas for me! He is here right now!"

"Are you serious?! Oh my gosh, Naba!" It was then Kevin noticed the death glare Jack was giving him, and he decided to take his leave. "That's awesome! Did Arnold know they were doing that? He never told me anything."

"They made him promise not to say a word so he wouldn't ruin the surprise." Kevin laughed at that and started up the steps. "His flight got in early this morning. Arnold and his father picked him up, and when I woke up, well, there he was in the living room!"

"That's incredible, Naba," Kevin said. "What an amazing…"

He trailed off as he passed Katie's room and spotted her pulling tubes of lipstick, mascara, and other types of makeup out of a travel bag. Kevin knew next to nothing about women's beauty products, but he was pretty sure Mary Kay wasn't a line of children's play cosmetics. "Hold on a moment," he told Naba, stepping into the doorway. "Katie, is that your sister's makeup bag?"

She stared up at him like a deer caught in the headlights. "I'm borrowing it."

"Did Debbie say you could borrow it?"

Katie set the lipstick back down on the dresser and sheepishly shook her head.

"Just because you and Deb share a room doesn't mean you're allowed to use her stuff without her permission," Kevin admonished. "You wouldn't like it if you came in here and she was going through all your Barbie dolls, would you?"

Again, Katie shook her head, eyes downcast.

"Why don't you put that away and use your own princess stuff. And maybe if you ask her nicely, Deb'll give you a makeover with all this some other time. Okay?"

"Okay." Katie began gathering up the makeup and putting it back in the bag.

"Good girl," Kevin said, giving her a quick peck on the forehead and exiting the room. "Sorry about that," he told Naba. "Want to come over and help me watch a bunch of kids?"

"Not in a million years," Naba replied, and Kevin chuckled. "Your house sounds like a nightmare."

"Nah, this isn't so bad. You should've seen my grandparents' place with the extended family last night. **_That_** was a nightmare. I have way too many cousins, and half of them have their own kids now. We need to start renting out a banquet hall, I swear." He stepped inside his own room and picked up Jack's pajamas off the floor, tossing them over onto the other's bed. "So, how long is Mafala in town? Gonna do any sightseeing?"

"He is here for one week. I'm definitely taking him to Temple Square, the library, and our college. We may go skiing, too, although don't see how either of us will be any good at it." They both laughed at that. Kevin took flopped down on his bed and reached over to pet Maggie, the family's black lab that had taken refuge in his room from the commotion downstairs. He scratched the dog's ears and listened as Naba continued, "Are you free tomorrow night? He wants to see everyone. I thought we could have a gathering at the Cunninghams, for anyone who's in town."

"Of course! That sounds awesome; I can't wait to see him again."

"Okay, I will text you the details." She paused briefly, and then went on. "Brynn will be there as well. Baba wants to meet her and Jami since I will be living with them next year."

"Oh yeah?" Kevin was far less enthusiastic about that little detail.

"I am going to tell you the same thing I told her, Kevin. I have not seen Baba in a long time, and—"

"I'm not about to ruin your reunion with your father, Naba," Kevin cut her off. "We'll be civil, I promise."

Kevin could hear her breathe a sigh of relief. "Brynn said the same thing," she said. "It will be fun, I am sure."

"You bet it will," Kevin said. "I'm gonna let you get back to your dad now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay," Naba said. "Have fun with your family!"

They both said their goodbyes, and after Kevin hung up Maggie rolled over onto her back, giving him an expectant look.

"You greedy thing." Kevin reached over to rub her belly, only to jerk up as a foam bullet hit the side of his head.

"Scott!" he shrieked, leaping up and taking off after his cackling brother. "That's it, mister; give me that gun!"

* * *

_The Next Evening_

This certainly wasn't the first time Kevin had visited Arnold's house; still, he simply couldn't get over the size of it. It wasn't exactly a mansion, per se—in all honesty, it was only slightly bigger than the four-bedroom Price residence. Still, the fact that it was currently shared amongst four people versus the eight in Kevin's house meant that everyone had much more space. Kevin stepped up to the front door and rang the bell, then blinked in surprise as it swung open and, rather than Naba or one of the Cunninghams, it was Ira who greeted him.

"Kevin, how's it going?" he held up a small red gift bag. "Merry December 26th."

Kevin carefully took the present. "I didn't get you anything," he said.

Ira shook his head. "No problem; I'm feeling generous. That's a week on me. At least, I figure it's a week, based on your buying habits."

"Really? Wow, thanks!" Kevin examined the pills inside and hated how happy this made him. "That's really nice of you."

"No problemo. Come on, get in here out of the cold. Arnold's parents are out and he was too lazy to answer the door, in case you were wondering why I'm playing host right now."

They stepped inside and made their way into the living room, where Arnold, Naba, Mafala, Connor, Brynn, Jami, Chris, and Elder Michaels were all gathered around on the sofas and chairs.

"Mafala!" Kevin grinned and stepped into the older man's outstretched arms. "It's so good to see you again."

"Kevin Price," Mafala chortled. "How the hell are you?"

"Fantastic, thanks. How're you liking America?"

"You want to know what I think? I think it's fucking cold!"

Kevin laughed. "You should come back in springtime; it's beautiful." He then noticed there was only one seat left, right next to Brynn, and he hoped Ira would take it so he could sit on the floor somewhere else. Much to his dismay, though, Ira settled down on the floor by Connor's legs, resting his head on the former missionary's knees. Kevin figured he had no excuse now, so he grudgingly sat down next to Brynn.

"Elder Michaels," Kevin brightened once he was seated and spotted him. "You made it in from Provo!"

"Hi, Kevin," Elder Michaels replied. "It's Greg, remember?"

"Right, sorry, old habits. Gosh, it's been so long; how are you? How's college? You're at the U, right?"

"That's right. And it's great! What about you? How's that fancy school back east—which one was it again?"

Kevin's smile tightened as Connor's "It was Georgetown" and Arnold's "Miami University in Ohio" both rang out in unison.

"It was Johns Hopkins," he said. "And I don't know how it is over there, because I'm actually at Weber State."

Greg's brow shot up in surprise. "Really? I thought you were just home for break."

"No," Chris said, elbowing Greg roughly. "Seriously man, this is why you need Facebook."

"Huh. Tough break, Kevin," Greg said sympathetically. "Oh well, you can always go there for medical school."

"That's what I was thinking" Kevin replied. As the conversation transitioned to another topic, Brynn leaned over and, face still set in its pleasant mask, whispered, "Like you'll actually get into their med school."

"Yeah, well, you'd get into their law school," Kevin whispered back, his mouth stretched in an equally fake smile. "You'll get into practically every law school there is because lawyers have no morals, so you'll fit the bill perfectly. Have fun fulfilling your dream of becoming one for some sad little hospital and screwing over the world one patient at a time."

"Oh yeah? You'll be real grateful for the hospital lawyer covering your mistakes—that is, once you finally become a doctor after finding a bottom-tier school that'll take your sorry ass."

"Not gonna be a problem for me. I don't plan on making mistakes."

Brynn almost snorted. "Keep telling yourself that. Oh, by the way…" She quickly glanced around at all the others to make sure they were still occupied and lowered her voice even further. "I'm surprised you never did anything about Ira."

Kevin pursed his lips. What was he supposed to say to that? _Well, I was going to. But it turns out prescription pills are actually awesome_. Choosing his words carefully, he replied, "There wasn't any need. He's, um, that's not an issue anymore."

Brynn raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yep." It wasn't a lie. It was just really vague and could be construed any number of ways.

"Huh. Okay, then."

They both tuned back into the conversation, which involved Jami emphatically telling Naba and Mafala about various nearby attractions they should visit.

"And you have to go to Park City," she was saying. "It's just down the road. That's where Sundance is every year—I know that probably doesn't matter much to you, but the whole place is just so cute and fun. Let's see, what else…there's a stable somewhere around here, too. Do they have horseback riding in Uganda?" She paused and frowned at several people's reactions, which ranged from knowing glances in Connor's direction to snickers. "What?" She looked over at Connor, who squirmed uncomfortably. "Why is everyone looking at you like that? Is it something us outsiders are excluded from? Ira, do you know about this?"

Ira craned his neck around toward Connor. "I don't," he said. "Why don't you tell us, babe?"

"There really isn't anything to tell," Connor said with an awkward chuckle.

"Oh, come on," Chris said. "You're full of crap; there totally is. I'm gonna tell the story."

"Or you could _**not**_ tell the story," Connor suggested. "That could be fun, too."

"Shut up; I'm gonna tell it," Chris said. "Okay. Jami, Brynn, Ira, I guess I should give you all some background. So as you can imagine, there's a lot of scary stuff in Uganda. We were all freaked out by something. Arnold and I hated the snakes, Greg was scared of the scorpions, and one day in November we all went out help harvest grasshoppers for _nsenene_ and Kevin started crying—"

"I did not start crying," Kevin protested.

"You almost started crying."

Naba cackled. "Remember when the one landed on his arm?"

" _It's touching me!_ " Arnold shrieked in his best impression of Kevin's voice. Naba joined in, and they both added, " _Get if off! Get it off!_ " before doubling over, howling with laughter along with everyone else.

"Grasshoppers? Really, Kevin?" Brynn looked over at him with amusement and disdain.

"They can jump _**and**_ fly!" Kevin defended himself. "They're unpredictable and disgusting. And these were really big ones." He shuddered at the memory and then said, "But quit changing the subject, back to the original story."

"Oh, right," said Chris. "Anyhow, the point is, we didn't think Connor wasn't afraid of anything. Literally, nothing. He killed spiders, roaches, scorpions, everything. One time we found a puff adder in our hut—a venomous snake, mind you—and he just picks up a shovel, chops it in half like it's nothing, then dumps it out while it's still squirming and is all like, okay, time for scripture study. Then another time we heard some lion roars nearby, and he comes out of the kitchen getting ready to take out the trash. We're all asking, are you sure? That lion sounds pretty close. And he says, oh, I don't think it'll be a problem. So he takes out the trash, comes back and is all like, there's a whole pack of them just up the hill. Majestic creatures, aren't they? He was invincible. We were all secretly in awe."

"Until one day." Greg smiled in anticipation. "We'd been doing a bunch of travelling, and we were at a village right outside Jinja spreading the word when Naba suggested we all go horseback riding along the Nile. Connor suddenly busts out the rules, talking about how riding horses is strictly forbidden."

"Which was odd, since we'd all broken some rule or another by this point," Chris continued. "So we all voted, he lost, and the next day we head out to go riding. We get to the pen, and Kevin starts carrying on about something or other—"

" _I wanna ride the pretty palomino!_ " Arnold mimicked, and Kevin held back from pointing out that he didn't sound shrilly like that at all.

"Right, that was it," Chris went on. "So he finally shuts up, and Connor's just standing there, staring ahead. One of them neighs, and he jumps about three feet in the air. So I'm like, Elder McKinley, are you okay? And he just loses it, carrying on about how those things are dangerous, ruthless, horrific animals and he's not going anywhere near those beasts."

"He about shit his pants!" Mafala exclaimed.

"Turns out his parents took him to a petting zoo when he little, and when he rode the pony it spooked and threw him off," said Greg. "He's been traumatized ever since."

"We gave him a ton of encouragement," Chris added. "Kevin offered to let him ride double on the pretty one, and Naba tried forever to get him to at least pet one. He wouldn't budge. We all went on this nice pleasant ride along the river while he stayed behind. Didn't you?" He and Greg both looked at Connor with smug grins. "Wuss."

"You two switched between past and present tense while telling that story more times than I could count," Connor replied coolly.

"Aww," Ira said. "Look at you. You have nothing to refute so you resort to being a grammar Nazi. And one of the spoken word, no less. A grammar Nazi of the highest order. How cute."

"Shut up," Connor snapped. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I'm sorry." Ira twisted around to fully face him, crossing his arms and resting them on Connor's legs. "Let me make it up to you. I'll take you on a date. We can go horseback riding, how does that sound?"

"You're not funny."

"What about donkeys? You afraid of donkeys? We can road trip it to the Grand Canyon and ride all the way down to the bottom. What about merry-go-rounds? How do you feel about merry-go-rounds? Are those too much for you as well?"

"I'm about to break up with you."

Ira laughed and relented, taking Connor's hand in his own and bringing it up to his lips. Kevin fought back the urge to roll his eyes. The conversation faded into a lull for a bit, before Arnold piped up. "Hey, you know what? We should play a game!"

* * *

Kevin wasn't sure how to feel right now. When everyone had decided to play charades in teams of two and he'd been paired with Brynn, he'd considered leaving right then and there. How on Earth did Naba expect them to be civil when they were constantly forced to interact with each other?

But then again, he also loved to win. And so far he and Brynn were **_killing_** it.

He watched Connor stand at the front of the room doing some sort of indecipherable gesture while Ira stared at him with a puzzled expression. "What are you even doing right now? I don't know, 'Party in the USA?'" he guessed. Connor shook his head and gave him a look of disdain.

"Time," Chris called.

"'Rolling in the Deep,'" Connor huffed. "'Party in the USA?' Seriously? If it had been a Miley Cyrus song I would've twerked."

"You can twerk?"

"Not really. At least I don't think so; never tried."

"Then how would I have known what you were doing?"

"Okay, enough. Kevin, Brynn, you're up," Chris said. "Again. Oh, joy. Let's see if you can beat your personal record."

"Let's do this," Brynn said, stepping up and pulling a slip of paper out of the basket. Chris hit the timer, and she first held up nine fingers before raising both hands up in a downward begging position and sticking out her tongue.

"Nine words. Dog," Kevin said.

She gave an affirmative, then held her hand flat in front of her and brought it in a chopping motion to her ear.

"Cutting off your ear," Kevin stated. "Van Gogh. Starry Night. Oh, I know, _The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time!_ "

"Eleven seconds," Chris droned. "Yep. New record. Look how unsurprised we all are."

"Can we just call it?" Greg asked. "They're ahead by sixteen points."

"Yes! We won!" Kevin and Brynn cried in unison, before turning to each other and enthusiastically high-fiving. Then, having realized they'd just voluntarily touched each other (and that it hadn't been completely horrible), they both awkwardly turned away and cleared their throats. Before anyone could comment on this behavior, however, Mafala suddenly clapped his hands.

"Ah, I almost forgot!" he said. "I have presents for all of you. Courtesy of Sister Kalimba. He reached into a bag beside the couch and began passing around thin, flimsy packages wrapped in brown paper, each with a different name in the corner.

"Oh, wow, you even brought gifts for the three of us?" Jami asked when she spotted her name, along with Brynn's and Ira's. "Thank you so much, Mr. Hatimbi!"

"You are welcome. I knew before I arrived I would be meeting the three of you while I visited."

"Oh, hey, cool!" Arnold exclaimed as he ripped open the paper on his gift, revealing a colorful, decorative cloth weaving about the size of placemat. "A tiny version of her blankets! Awesome."

"Aww, remember all of her different designs?" Kevin held his own up and smiled, lost in his own nostalgia. "I miss her."

"Me too," Connor agreed. "That was so sweet of her to make all these. Give her a big hug from us, will you, Mafala?"

Brynn, meanwhile, was staring at her own gift in confusion. "What the fuck?" she said as she pulled a paper-thin sheet of plastic out from behind her weaving. "Why did mine come with an x-ray of a Book of Mormon up someone's rectum?" She held it up, and Kevin froze, feeling his stomach plummet. "Is this real? Whose x-ray is this?"

"Oh, uh, shit," Mafala said slowly, clearly uncomfortable. "Brynn, perhaps you opened the wrong gift."

Sure enough, a closer inspection of the crumpled brown paper revealed Kevin's name, whereas his own featured Brynn's. Brow furrowed, she looked up and assessed Kevin's horrified face.

"Is this yours?" she deadpanned. "Kevin, is that your ass in this x-ray?"

For a few seconds, Kevin simply gaped at the x-ray, speechless. His eyes spun around to the faces around him—the majority reflecting various forms of shock and puzzlement—and he wanted to die right then and there. Finally, he managed to croak out, "Give that back."

"Wait, wait, wait," Chris piped up. "Is **_that_** what the General did when you tried to convert him? Oh, we've been wondering about this for years."

"So, that is real, then?" Ira said. "Holy shit, dude. Like, literally, holy shit."

Arnold smugly kicked back in his seat. "See?" he exclaimed. "See, Kevin, look, they didn't know! Remember all those times you accused me of telling? I never told anyone! Ha!"

"Have you considered selling this story to reality TV?" Ira continued, before Connor smacked his arm and said, "Enough."

Kevin was only vaguely comprehending everything the group was saying, as he was still locked on Brynn and that damn x-ray she was holding. She continued to stare down at it for another moment, before bursting out laughing.

"Are you freaking kidding me? Kevin Price, did you lose your virginity to your own damn holy book? That is so…I don't even have words. I can't decide whether to feel sorry for you and apologize for everything bad I've ever said or laugh for the rest of my life. Oh my God, this is amazing!"

"Shut up," Kevin finally found his voice again. "I did not lose my—give that back, Brynn!"

"Oh, hell no. I'm gonna treasure this for eternity."

"Damn it, Brynn, give it back now!" He reached over to snatch the x-ray away, only for her to jerk her hand back. Cackling, she stood up when he launched over for it again and rushed down the hallway.

"I hate you, Brynn DeMarco!" Kevin growled, leaping off the couch and chasing after her.

Once they were both gone, Naba turned to Mafala with an accusatory scowl on her face, "Baba, did you put that in Kevin's gift?" she challenged.

He shook his head. "Of course not. Someone must have snuck it in there."

She nodded in understanding and leaned back in her seat. "Mutumbo," she sighed.

"Who else?"

Before the rest of them even got a full minute of peace, Kevin and Brynn had circled back around into the living room, where Kevin finally caught hold his target.

"Give it back!" he demanded, clutching onto her arms from behind while she doubled over, barely managing to keep the sheet out of his reach.

Undeterred, Brynn craned her neck and licked his hand. "Ew!" he shrieked, jerking back and releasing his grip. Before she could rush off again, he realized his mistake and grabbed onto her once more, though he was now thoroughly distracted.

"Oh, is that how you want to play it?" he snapped. "Fine, let's see how you like it!" He then proceeded to run his tongue along the shell of her ear.

Cringing in disgust, Brynn responded by spinning around and licking his cheek, and he reciprocated on her forehead. This back-and-forth went on for a few more exchanges, before Connor finally stood up and snatched the forgotten x-ray out of Brynn's hand.

"Good Lord, cut it out!" he snapped, crumpling up the x-ray in his hands. "Do you two have any idea how incredibly stupid you look?"

"I did it last," Kevin hastily replied. "I win."

"Okay, Kevin," Connor said dryly, stepping over and tossing the x-ray in the trash. "Sure. You win. If you want call yourself champion of the great slobberfest of winter break, then go right ahead. Sorry, Brynn, better luck next time."

There was a tense moment of awkward silence after that, with no one quite sure of an appropriate response to what had just occurred. Finally, Mafala chuckled.

"You Americans are so fucking weird!" he said.

At that, every person in the room dissolved into fits of laughter, not even Kevin or Brynn managing to keep a straight face.

* * *

After another hour, the evening finally started to wind down. One by one, Jami, Brynn, Greg, and Kevin all took their respective leaves. Connor was gathering the remaining coats from the hall closet when Mafala approached.

"It was good to see you again, Connor McKinley," he said. "I'm glad you are well."

"Thank you. You too, Mafala."

"You are a good friend to my Nabulungi. She mentions you in her letters almost as much as she talks about Arnold."

"Does she?" Connor replied. "That's so sweet. She means a lot to me."

"I am also happy to see she is branching out and making new friends. You have a good group here." Mafala hesitated briefly before adding, "There is just one exception."

"Oh, don't worry about Brynn," Connor quickly said. "She hates Kevin, but she's harmless, I promise."

"Fuck no, I love Brynn!" Mafala laughed. "She takes no shit, and she and Jami will be good influences on my daughter." He paused again, wavering, before continuing on. "No, I am talking about Ira."

Now Connor faltered. "Oh, yeah?" he said slowly.

"When you live in a land as dangerous as mine, you learn to be very careful around others," Mafala said. "There is something…off about him, I suppose. I do not like it. Perhaps I am wrong, but I thought you should know. I do not want you to get hurt, Connor McKinley."

Connor didn't know what to say. Sure, Ira was a bit smug, and sometimes he could take his jokes a little too far. But he was by no means a threat. Then again, in his two years as district leader, Connor had never once doubted Mafala. To this day, he thought of the village leader as the smartest person he knew.

"Thank you, Mafala," he replied uncertainly. "I'll keep that in mind. Come on, give me a hug in case I don't see you again while you're here, and send all the others my best, okay?"

Once they had said their goodbyes, Connor headed back toward the front door, where Chris and Ira were both waiting for their coats. "Ready to go?" Ira asked as Connor handed them over.

Connor donned his scarf and examined Ira's sparkling green eyes and ever-present playful smile, wondering what exactly Mafala could have possibly picked up on.

"Yeah," he replied.


	19. When the Cat's Away, the Sims Will Commit Adultery

_**Sophomore Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 19: When the Cat's Away, the Sims Will Commit Adultery**

"How was your first day?" Arnold said, stretching out more on Kevin's bed and resituating his computer in his lap.

Kevin stared down at his organic chemistry II notes with a sense of helplessness. He already felt like he had so much to do. "Do you ever use your own room?" he asked.

"Only for sleeping," Arnold replied, shrugging. "I don't think Quentin likes me."

"Well, don't expect me to mediate for the two of you. I'm doing a session this afternoon for a couple of guys on this floor, and I want to strangle both of them."

Arnold looked up from his laptop screen. "You really don't like being an RA, do you?"

"It's the worst. Everyone has so many problems, none of my residents respect me, and I don't have time for any of it. Plus, let me remind you that only three people came to my program back in November, and one of them was Connor." He gave Arnold an accusatory glare and added, " _ **You**_ didn't even come!"

"This again?" Arnold groaned. "I told you, it sounded boring and I had gaming club!"

"Whatever. Did I tell you I made a mistake at reopening and had to have a one-on-one with my supervisor? It was awful."

"Ah, well, it happens. Don't worry about it so much; I'm sure Connor's had problems, too."

Kevin snorted. "Connor? Oh, heck no, everyone loves him!" He rolled his eyes. "I actually overheard my boss telling the director that he's the best new RA she's ever seen. _**I**_ was supposed to be the best new RA they'd ever seen!"

"Well, how were you supposed to do that? You hated the job from the minute you started training."

"That's not the point. But anyway, you might as well see if Connor can mediate for you and Quentin. He's your RA, after all; and he's practically perfect, according to the whole damn res life staff."

"Nah, I don't think I want to," Arnold replied. "I don't care if Quentin likes me, and besides, it gives me an excuse to spend more time with my bestie." He brightened. "You know what we should do next year, since I'm guessing you won't wanna be an RA again? We should get an apartment! Yeah, that'd be awesome. And check it out; that's what I've been doing here in the Sims."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, see? That's you, me, and Naba in a penthouse apartment, right in the middle of the city! Naba and I are married, and you're single so you still live with us. Don't worry; we'll find someone for you soon enough. Maybe the vampire goth chick or the nice old lady with the cats. And look, I made Connor, too! He's married to Ira and they live down the street. I can't control them, though." A horn sounded from the laptop's tiny speakers. "Oh hey, check it out, there's my carpool. Time to go to work! I'm a police officer, and Naba's a journalist. You're unemployed. So anyhow, that's pretty much…hey!" Arnold stopped and scowled at the screen. "Your sim just flirted with Naba! Dude, not cool; that's my wife—hey, she's flirting back! You buttholes, I've been gone less than a minute! What the heck is wrong with you?"

He looked up at Kevin, completely offended, and Kevin started back blankly. "I didn't do anything," he stated. Then he turned back around and grabbed another dose of Adderall from his desk drawer, swallowing it down with a gulp of coffee.

"Do you have a headache?"

Kevin froze. It had hadn't even occurred to him that he was doing that in front of Arnold.

"Yeah," he lied.

Arnold shook his head. "Too much coffee," he said. "Gotta cut back on the caffeine, buddy."

* * *

_A Few Weeks Later_

"College has been so exciting!" Naba said, arranging her textbooks and folders out in front of her on the library table. "My classes are all very interesting. Much better than studying for the GED."

"You only think that because it's still early," Arnold replied. "Wait until you've been here a while, or until they start giving you a bunch of work. Look what it's done to Kevin," he gestured to the seat next to him, where Kevin was slumped over his chemistry book, sound asleep.

Naba simply shrugged. "I am ready to learn," she said. "Hey, Connor, can you review my essay for me? You are very good at grammar."

"Of course." Connor took the essay out of her hand. "You know you can always visit the Writing Center too, right? They can probably help you even more than I can."

"I will just start with you for now"

"No problem. I'll take a look as soon I'm finished with this paper." He looked over his laptop screen when Kevin let out a quiet snore. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, probably," Arnold said. "Don't wake him up; he's been cranky all day."

Connor ignored that and stepped over to Kevin's side of the table, giving his shoulder a light shake. "Kevin," he said softly. "You awake?"

Kevin abruptly jerked up and groaned. "Where am I?" he asked, disoriented.

"Library," Connor replied. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," Kevin looked over at the clock and cringed. "Crap, I should've finished this today; I still have physics II and I work tomorrow…I can do it Wednesday, I guess."

"We have to do health and safety inspections on Wednesday," Connor countered.

Kevin stared at him. "I forgot about those," he said, gathering up his things. "Well, guess I get to be up all night again," he sneered. "Lucky me."

"Buddy," Arnold said. "You really need to chill—"

"Why are you even here?" Kevin snapped. "Are you ever actually gonna do anything productive? Shouldn't you be picking out a major or something?" With that, he headed out, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

"See?" Arnold sighed. "I don't like him anymore. At least not during the school year. Only on breaks."

Naba reached over and patted his hand. "I'm sure he is just very stressed."

"He's _**always**_ stressed, though."

"It shouldn't be so bad next semester," Connor said. "I know he isn't reapplying as an RA."

Naba looked up at him. "What about you? Are you reapplying?"

"I am, yes."

"Huh. About that," Arnold began. "How exactly do you manage being an RA along with everything else? Kevin struggles a lot, but you work more hours at Olive Garden than he does at Starbucks, and you're doing fine."

"Well, our schedules are very different," Connor conceded. "Most of his classes have labs attached to them every week and mine, well, it fluctuates depending on my involvement in the productions. Other than that, I suppose I just manage because I enjoy being an RA. It'd be a lot harder if I didn't like it."

He paused for a second, as if he wasn't sure whether to continue, before going ahead and saying, "But anyway, Arnold, since Kevin brought it up: _**are**_ you in the process of picking out a major?"

"Um, not really, no," Arnold admitted. "But I still have time, right?"

"A little, yes, but you're running out of gen eds," Connor replied.

"You don't know that for sure."

"I do, actually. I've been keeping track."

"Really?" Arnold blinked. "Huh. Well, I dunno what to tell you, because I have no idea what I want to do."

"Have you tried visiting Career Services? I'm sure they have some assessments that could point you in the right direction."

"Aw, man, I don't want to do any more tests," Arnold groaned.

"Well, you may have to. It's important to start figuring out your direction in life."

"Oh come on, like anyone knows exactly what they want to do," Arnold defended himself. "Okay, yeah, maybe Kevin knows he wants to be a doctor and Naba knows she wants to be a nurse, and those are pretty straightforward. But what about you, Connor? Do you know exactly what you want to do if you don't make it on Broadway?"

Connor's smile faltered. "Well, no," he admitted. "I'm not even a hundred percent sure I want to be on Broadway, but the point is I'm making progress, and you need to start doing whatever it is you have to do to make progress yourself."

Arnold was quiet for a moment, thinking things over. "Maybe I'll do business," he said. "Yeah, like what Poptarts is doing."

The look Connor gave him was skeptical at best. "How do you know you'll like business? You haven't even taken a class in that field."

"Okay, so you think I shouldn't do business, then?"

"No, I didn't say that. If you have in interest there, then you should definitely look into it. But don't just go picking majors at random."

"Have you talked to your academic advisor yet?" Naba asked, looking up from her folder. "Mine is very helpful."

"Yeah," Arnold replied. "He told me to go to Career Services."

"Well, then it's settled," Connor said. "Once we leave here I'm gonna take you over there to set up an appointment. Also, before that meeting I want you to print out a list of our majors and cross out everything you know for a fact you don't want to do, and highlight anything that looks interesting. That'll give you a starting point, okay?"

"You're not my district leader anymore," Arnold said grudgingly. "You can't give me chores."

Connor smiled. "But I _**am**_ your RA. Close enough, right?"

"Do not be discouraged, Arnold," Naba said reassuringly. "I am doing what I love, and we will find the thing you love soon enough."

Arnold didn't say anything in response. He'd already found what he loved. Being in Uganda, telling stories to a captive audience that took joy in his words. Unfortunately, he'd been forced to move on from that point in his life.


	20. Masquerade

_**Sophomore Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 20: Masquerade**

Arnold hated Mondays. Especially when his weekend had sucked as bad as it did. After a difficult test and one particularly experience regarding health and safety inspections a few days prior, he'd been hoping to kick back and relax with his friends. But Chris and Naba had been forced to work on speeches that were due, and Connor had two double shifts at the restaurant (not that he'd wanted to hang out with Connor anyway, given the unspeakable inspection incident). Not to mention, he barely even saw Kevin anymore, given that all he ever did nowadays was work on homework or sleep. As a result, Arnold had spent the majority of the weekend alone, and today he sat in the dining hall with Naba at lunch, feeling thoroughly ripped off.

"I do not know why people complain about the food here," Naba said, spreading mayonnaise on her cheeseburger. "It's perfectly acceptable to me."

"That's 'cause you're from a poor village," Arnold replied. "Everything tastes good to you."

Naba narrowed her eyes. "So, because my village is poor, we don't have taste buds?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant!" Arnold said quickly. "I was just saying—well, um, you know—"

"Hi there!" His flustered babbling was interrupted by Connor joining them at their table, and Arnold pointedly looked away.

"Sorry I'm late; I was in the studio," Connor said. "You're both coming to see me in _The Pajama Game_ next month, right? I know I'm only in the ensemble, but hey, at least I'm on stage this time! It's gonna be a lot of fun, and everyone's doing amazing—"

"Nuh uh. Don't expect me to be there," Arnold snapped, stabbing at his pasta with a fork. "I'm mad at you."

Connor sighed. "Arnold, come on—"

"Nope. You wrote me up. _**You**_ ruined this friendship, not me."

"It was health and safety inspections, and your laundry was molding. What exactly was I supposed to do?"

"If Quentin doesn't have a problem with it, then neither should you."

"First of all, I definitely didn't get that impression from Quentin," Connor replied dryly. "And second, that's not how those inspections work."

"Well, what do you want from me?" Arnold said, tossing his hands up. "I'm not used to doing my own laundry; last year I would just let it pile up until Kevin broke down and did it for me!"

"He did your laundry?" Naba scowled. "I told him not to give in! I will kick his ass. Arnold, learn to do your goddamn laundry."

"Okay, that's enough, Naba," Connor said quickly. "But really, Arnold, are you still mad at me about this? Those write-ups aren't that big a deal; just don't cause any more trouble and you'll be fine."

Arnold heaved an over-dramatic sigh. "A little, but I guess I'll get over it," he grumbled. He never was one to hold a grudge. "I should've lived on Kevin's floor. I bet _**he**_ wouldn't have written me up."

"Oh, really?" Connor's eyebrows shot up. "Trust me, he would've. Kevin's written more people up than the rest of the RAs combined. Do you know why people refer to his floor as Ice Town?"

Arnold shrugged. "Because it's colder up there or something?"

"No, it's because his residents call him Elsa, Ice Queen of Housing behind his back."

"For real?" Arnold widened his eyes. "Aw man, now I really wanna tell him!"

"Well I'd rather you didn't, but I suppose he'll find out eventually anyway." Connor shrugged and stole one of Naba's fries off her tray.

"Go get your own food." She smacked his hand away good-naturedly and then she looked down at the time on her phone, brow furrowed. "Where is Kevin, anyway? Isn't this when he usually gets lunch?"

"He probably went to the food court," Arnold replied, but even as he said it he felt doubtful. Kevin rarely went to the food court except on weekends or whenever he had an evening lab, and come to think of it, he'd been steadily losing weight recently. Was he skipping meals now? Arnold remembered his friend complaining last year when he'd put on the freshman fifteen, but he hadn't thought Kevin was bothered by it enough to go on some sort of extreme diet. Arnold was starting to get a little worried, and he made a mental note to do some investigation.

* * *

_That Afternoon_

To an outsider, it would appear as if nothing had changed in Connor and Ira's relationship, given that the two acted the same as ever. Internally, though, Connor couldn't stop thinking about Mafala's warning, and he found himself questioning everything Ira did. Even now, blissfully leaning against his dresser while Ira trailed kisses down his jawline to his neck, his mind wandered.

Mafala wouldn't have said anything if he simply hadn't liked Ira's attitude, so obviously he'd picked up on something big, something Connor couldn't see. But what was it? Nothing Ira had done was out of the ordinary for a typical college student. Maybe Mafala was wrong; he even said it was possible. But how could Connor know for sure? Obviously he wasn't going to just ask Ira outright. Maybe he should talk to Naba, or perhaps someone who'd known him longer than Connor had. Would that be too paranoid?

"Okay, stop," he said as Ira began lapping and sucking at his neck. "I don't want a mark there."

Ira chuckled and flicked his tongue one last time across his skin before moving back up to capture Connor's lips in his own. A couple seconds later his phone vibrated on the dresser, signaling the arrival of a new message. Ira stepped back and picked it up, and Connor frowned at the name on the screen.

"Sweetie, why are you texting Kevin?" he asked. "I didn't think the two of you really talked."

Ira shrugged. "We do occasionally. I have to borrow a book from him." He sent his reply and looked up from his phone, eyebrow quirked. "Is it a problem that I talk to him?"

"No," Connor answered quickly, feeling ever so slightly reassured. Kevin had been Ira's biggest critic, so if he was warming up to him then surely this was a good sign. "No, I'm glad. I was actually a little worried he didn't like you."

Ira laughed and stepped up to Connor once more. "He likes me fine," he said as he placed his hands back on Connor's hips. "Now then, where were we?"

* * *

_An Hour Later_

"You've been buying more this semester," Ira said. He leaned forward in Kevin's desk chair, handing over one small bag of Adderall and another filled with Ativan.

"Is that supposed to be some sort of warning?" Kevin snapped.

Ira laughed and shook his head. "Just an observation."

Kevin yawned and replied, "Well, I have more to do this semester. I also forgot about a quiz this morning and failed it. I can't let that happen again." He chose to leave out the part where he'd skipped his next class to go cry his eyes out, and then, exhausted, slept straight through lunch and the following class period. "Do you have higher dosages?"

"Mmhm," Ira said as he read a text on his phone. "Costs more, though."

Kevin winced, wondering where he would possibly get the necessary funds. Even so, he said, "Bring that next time, will you?"

"For both of them? I have it now if you want that instead."

"I don't have the money," Kevin replied. Hell, he was already scraping by just to be afford his usual.

"No worries. You can owe me."

"I don't _**want**_ to owe you," Kevin said adamantly.

Ira shot him a bemused glance. "Okay," he said. "That's fine, just keep what you've got. I mean, you'll definitely see better results with the higher dosage, but hey, it's up to you." As he looked back down at his phone, he added, "I suppose you can just double down on those, but they'll go that much quicker and you won't be any better off. Do what you want, though."

Kevin bit his lip and looked down at the pills in his hands. If they would really work better…

"Okay, fine," he gave in. "I'll owe you."

They tallied up the total, and Kevin took the new pills with a sick, humiliated feeling in his stomach. "How do you even get this stuff, anyway?"

"It's all about knowing people, my friend." Ira stood up and collected his belongings.

"I'm not your friend," Kevin snapped. "Do you even have any real friends? You know Connor would break up with you on the spot if he ever found out, right?"

Ira paused by the door frame, hand on the knob. His smile widened. "And what would he say about you, Kevin?"

Kevin found he didn't have an answer to that, so he simply averted his eyes. Ira clicked his tongue knowingly and continued, "Maybe he would dump me, and maybe he wouldn't. Honestly, it doesn't really matter much to me."

"Then why are you even with him? Why would you do that to him?"

Ira hesitated, as if trying to decide how to best describe it. "Have you ever been to a masquerade, Kevin?" he finally asked.

Kevin faced him, his face expressionless. "When would I have ever gone to a masquerade?"

"Who knows? I've never been to one, either. But the idea of wearing a mask is exciting, isn't it? No one ever knows who you really are, and you can change that mask at any time and become someone completely new. What a thrilling way to live, right? So, to answer your question about why I began dating Connor," he paused and shrugged. "I'm always up for new things, and I've never been the doting boyfriend before. If I'm being completely honest, it's a bit of a drag, but a nice change of pace from time to time."

Earlier in the year, this statement would've filled Kevin with rage. He would've called Ira out on using Connor for his own entertainment, told him to go to hell, and then rushed to inform Connor as soon as possible so this couldn't escalate any further than it already had. Now, however, he couldn't figure out how to let Connor know while still maintaining access to his pills, and frankly he was too damn tired to really dwell on it.

"Well, good for you," he said flatly, dropping down onto his bed.

Ira snorted and took his leave without further comment. Kevin buried his head in his pillow the second he was gone, ignoring his growing list of projects and deadlines for now.


	21. Prescriptions Don't Come in Sandwich Bags

_**Sophomore Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 21: Prescriptions Don't Come in Sandwich Bags**

"Okay, I think I know my major, for real this time. I went to Career Services and everything." Arnold leaned back in his dining hall seat, pausing for effect. "English, creative writing emphasis."

Kevin snorted. "So basically the same thing I told you to do a long time ago?" he asked. "Back when Connor made us go to that stupid major fair thing?"

"Um, no, buddy, you just said English. And I wasn't into it back then, 'cause I thought it was just reading a bunch of boring old books. But then the career people started talking about the creative writing part, and it totally fits, you know? Because, y'know, I'm really good at making things up. How awesome would it be if I actually wrote a book?"

"That would be incredible," Naba said excitedly. "You tell the most amazing stories."

"I know, right?" Arnold replied, trying to be suave but ruining it with an awkward chuckle. "Of course, I'm still gonna have to read some boring old books, but I'm gonna get to do a bunch of other cool stuff, too!"

"Well, I'm happy for you. We all are," Connor said. "Have you officially declared it yet? Did you get a new advisor in the department? What about a plan for graduation; have you made one of those? You only have two years, so if you want to graduate on time you're gonna want to get the sequence just right—"

"Oh, yeah, I'm not worried about that." Arnold waved a hand dismissively. "I'll just have my advisor tell me what to take."

"They aren't supposed to just _**tell**_ you what to take," Connor countered. "Sure, they'll give you guidance and help you create a path, but ultimately it's up to you to—"

"Blah blah blah. I'll just have you do it, then. You're good at that stuff, right? Thanks, man." Before Connor could protest, Arnold turned to Kevin and asked, "Can you run me to Gamestop this afternoon? I wanna celebrate having a real major!"

"I have homework," Kevin replied. "And didn't you say you have something or other due tomorrow as well? I know you didn't finish early."

"Oh, crap." Arnold's eyes widened as he remembered. "My philosophy paper. Dang it. Welp, looks like we're gonna be study buddies tonight. Guess I'll go to Gamestop tomorrow."

"It will give you something to look forward to." Naba stood up with her tray in hand and gave Arnold a quick peck on the cheek. "I have to go to class now; I will see you all later."

"Bye!" Connor called after her retreating figure. Then he started gathering up his own things. "I should probably head out, too," he sighed. "I have to put in some more studio hours."

Once Connor stood up, Kevin and Arnold decided there was no point in sticking around any longer, and all three headed off to dump their empty plates for cleaning. They'd just reached the dining hall exit when another student came barreling in with his hands full, dropping his notebook in the process. Connor quickly stooped to pick it up.

"Here you go." He looked up to hand it over, and his face brightened when he recognized the student. "Oh, hi Jordan! Ready for that history test we've got on Friday?"

Jordan gave him a wary look as he took the notebook. "Not into guys, man," he said before hurrying on his way.

Connor stiffened in surprise, face reddening. "I wasn't…" he began quietly, then he shook his head, quickly composed himself, and headed out the door. Kevin and Arnold rushed after him.

"Don't worry about him," Kevin told him. "He's an ignorant jerk."

"It's fine," Connor hastily replied, his voice strained. "It's just…well, it's something I have to deal with sometimes."

"Don't let it get to you," Arnold said. "Who needs buttheads like that, anyway? Come on, just focus on all the cool people in your life who don't care about things like gay or straight. Like us! Personally, I've never been bothered by gay people, because I don't think my life would be that different if I were gay. Like, think about it; right now Kevin's my best friend and Naba's my girlfriend. And someday, Naba and I are gonna get married and have the sex, and then we'll have children. So if I were gay, then Naba would probably be my best friend, and Kevin would be my boyfriend. And then Kevin and I would get married, and we'd have the, y'know, the gay sex. Only, we wouldn't have children because Kevin can't make babies and adoption sounds hard, so we'd just have the gay sex more."

Kevin looked over at Arnold with his eyebrows raised in bemusement. "Wow, that was really specific," he said. "Would I have a say in any of this?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought this was _**my**_ hypothetical gay life, not _**Kevin's**_ gay life," Arnold retorted. Then he appeared to panic a little and let out an exaggerated laugh. "Not that Kevin has a gay life," he quickly added. "Nope, no way. No gay life for Kevin, hypothetical or otherwise. Yup. My totally straight best friend. No way would he ever—"

"Arnold," Connor cut him off.

"Yeah?"

"We get it. Kevin's straight. Well, this is my building; see ya." He split away from the two of them and headed toward the entrance to Browning Center

Arnold gave him a wave before looking up at Kevin. "Where're you headed?"

Kevin shrugged. "I've got an hour to kill before micro procedures, so I guess I'll head up to Science Lab to study."

"I'll walk with you." They started forward, and Arnold asked, "Speaking of you being straight, are you interested in anyone? I don't think you've been on a date since that Jessica girl last year."

Kevin felt his muscles tense. "Julia," he corrected. "Why?"

"Well, it's just, there's this cute girl in one of my classes. She's real smart and likes Disney a lot, too! So I thought maybe you two could—"

"I don't have time to date, Arnold."

"Okay." Arnold sighed and looked down at his feet. "I was just trying to help."

"I know that," Kevin replied. "And thanks, but...not right now. I have too much on my plate as it is."

"Yeah, I get that. Maybe next semester, when you're not an RA anymore and you've got more time."

"Sure," Kevin agreed flatly. Except probably not, because dating wasn't going to do anything for his medical school application, and it wasn't like he was actually interested in dating anyone that wasn't named Connor McKinley—

He stopped that thought in its tracks and said, "Maybe next semester."

* * *

_That Evening_

Kevin carefully skimmed through the final page of his lab write-up; after finding it error-free he nodded in satisfaction and clicked the save button. He crossed that task off his to-do list, then picked up his chemistry text and flipped through the chapter he had to read. Ugh, why did it have to be so freaking long? Stifling a yawn, he leaned back and in his desk chair and stretched, looking over to where Arnold was sitting on his bed hard at work on his essay.

"Are you making an outline?" Kevin asked skeptically. "That's not like you."

"You heard what Connor said. I don't have a lot of extra room in my schedule anymore if I wanna graduate on time," Arnold explained, squinting down at what he'd just written. "That means I can't fail anything, or I'll have to retake it. So I'm gonna make sure this paper's good, you know? Plus, I'm gonna be doing a lot of writing now, so I want to practice good habits."

He made to erase something on the page, only to notice the worn down end at the top of his pencil. "Aw, man, you got any erasers?" he asked Kevin.

"There's one in my bag." Kevin flipped back to page one of the chapter and trained his eyes on the first paragraph. It wasn't until he heard Arnold rifling through his messenger bag that he remembered his newest supply of pills, and panic seized him. "Wait—" he spun his chair around, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Arnold holding up the plastic baggie with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Um, Kevin, why do you have all this medicine in your bag?" Arnold asked. "Is this Adderall? I saw this movie on TV the other day where the girl was taking Adderall, and it looked a lot like this. Isn't that supposed to be for ADHD?"

Kevin thought quickly. "My doctor gave that to me," he replied.

"Huh," Arnold said coolly. "Prescriptions don't come in sandwich bags, do they? Weird that they're not in one of those orange bottles."

"Well, I don't carry it in that," Kevin said with finality, hoping more than anything that Arnold would be his usual gullible self and accept the explanation. "You needed an eraser, right? I've got one here—"

"Damn it, Kevin, I'm not stupid!" Arnold snapped, tossing the baggie down on the bed in frustration. "I know you didn't get this from some doctor. Who gave it to you?"

"Arnold, look—"

"Who gave it to you, Kevin?!"

"It doesn't matter who gave it to me, okay? Do you know how easy it is to get this stuff on a college campus?"

"Well you shouldn't be buying it," Arnold said. "It's illegal and dangerous! How long have you been taking it?"

Kevin bit his lip and averted his eyes. "Since our first sociology test last semester," he said.

Arnold shook his head. "So that's why you've been acting so crazy," he said.

"I have not been acting crazy—"

"It's screwing with your head!" he cried. "You don't need that stuff, and you're taking it anyway so your body doesn't know how to react. Look back on how you've been acting this year, Kevin. You have _**not**_ been yourself."

Kevin stammered for a moment, grasping at straws. "Well, maybe it doesn't matter if I've been myself," he said. "The admissions committee at Johns Hopkins isn't gonna care if I've been myself."

Arnold threw up his hands in exasperation. "You're doing this for some dumb old medical school?" he exclaimed. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You honestly think they're gonna let you become a doctor if they find out you don't follow prescription rules? That's a big deal!"

Kevin's voice was tight as he replied, "That's why they aren't gonna find out."

"You're right, they're not." Arnold picked up the bag of pills. "Because this ends now."

"Wait, what?"

"You're not taking these anymore. They're dangerous, and I don't wanna see you get hurt."

"Seriously? Come on, give those back. They're expensive, and I need them."

"No, you don't!" Arnold spat. "You only think you need them because you put too much pressure on yourself. Everything's gotta be a huge deal for you, and you know what? It's getting old. You can't just go to med school and become a normal doctor and live a normal life, can you? No, you think you've gotta go to the _**best**_ med school, and become the _**best**_ doctor, and live in Orlando, and become mayor, and get the keys to the city and a free lifetime pass to Disney World, and become surgeon general and leader of the free world, and marry someone fancy like Selena Gomez or Lea Michele, and have a bunch of beautiful multi-talented children running around. Well guess what, pal? It's not happening. You're not gonna get a lifetime pass to Disney World, and you're not gonna marry Lea Michele!"

Kevin gawked at him, offended. "Where is this coming from?" he demanded. "I've never even mentioned half of—since when—honestly, when have I _**ever**_ said I want to marry Lea Michele?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it past you, Kevin. But she doesn't want you, and for all you know that school may not want you, either. But so what? Who cares? It's not worth risking your life. You can't become a doctor if you're dead, buddy. You can't become anything if you're dead!"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Stop being so dramatic. I'm not gonna die, Arnold."

"You _**could**_ die! You don't know what it's doing to you long-term. Just stop taking them, okay? Please, Kev, you're my best friend and I don't want to see you ruin your life."

Kevin sat frozen in place, eyeing the bag and chewing on his bottom lip. The thought of trying to manage without the pills made him sick, but his friend looked so damn scared for him it was hard to refuse. Arnold noticed his hesitancy and added, "What would your family say if they knew?"

His mom would cry. His dad would be furious and drag him off to some sort of religious therapy. His siblings would probably avoid him. Kevin couldn't bear any of that, but still...

"I need them," he repeated, his eyes pleading.

Arnold shook his head. "We both know that's not true," he said. "Come on, buddy, you can do this. I'll help you."

Kevin would've given anything to feel like he could get by without them. He hated feeling like all of his talent came from a tiny tablet full of chemicals, and he loathed being dependent on Ira Gotfrey, of all people. He wanted to stop, he really did. He wished it was possible. And maybe it was. Maybe, just maybe, he could try. He let out shaky breath and whispered, "Okay."

Arnold looked up at him hopefully. "Okay?" he repeated.

"Okay, fine." Kevin's eyes were downcast, and his voice was still quiet. "I'll stop."

"Thank God." Arnold heaved a huge sigh of relief and rose to his feet. "You don't have anything else, do you?"

Kevin's mind flashed to the Ativan in his top desk drawer. "No," he lied.

"All right, good. I'm gonna go flush these."

"Wait." Kevin stood up, blocking Arnold's path. "Now?"

"Yes now; why not?"

"Can't I just have one more dose?"

Arnold shook his head. "No way, buddy. That's not gonna make quitting any easier."

"Fine," Kevin bit out, stepping out of the way. This was really happening, wasn't it? As he watched Arnold trot off down the hallway toward the bathroom, he tried to ignore the tiny voice in his head suggesting he could always buy more without telling him. No, he'd already lied about the Ativan, so he owed it to his friend to be at least somewhat honest. Besides, there was nothing he hated more than failing to live up to people's expectations, so if Arnold believed he could quit, then he most certainly could.

Right?


	22. Open Admissions

_**Sophomore Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 22: Open Admissions**

Kevin used to think he knew difficulty pretty well. Studying day and night for the ACT had been difficult. Writing his application essays for Johns Hopkins had been difficult. Completing a mission in Uganda was difficult, as was facing his parents after being kicked out of the church. After everything Kevin had been through, he thought he was sufficiently prepared for any hardship to come. But absolutely none of that compared to what he was facing now, resisting the urge to track down Ira Gotfrey and gulp down every last bit of Adderall in his possession.

It had only been a day, and already he felt like giving up. He stood in the genetics lab after class had ended, staring down at the petri dish in his hands with his mind far too cloudy to correctly identify anything. After an interminable amount of time, he heard someone next to him clear her throat.

"You gonna stand there with that thing all day?" Brynn said. "Other people need it too, you know."

The very sound of her voice set him on edge, and he felt a surge of irritation rush through him. "You're still here?" he snapped.

"Yep, and so are you," Brynn replied. "You look like shit, by the way."

"Shut the hell up." It wasn't _**his**_ fault that he'd been too tired to shower or comb his hair that morning.

Brynn quizzically raised an eyebrow at his abrasiveness, but rather than commenting she snatched the petri dish out of his hands after a short examination of the culture inside, she recorded the proper labels on her worksheet.

"There," she said, holding the dish out to him. "Should I put this in the fridge, or do you need it back to stare dumbly at it some more?"

Okay, that was it. Kevin finally felt something inside of him snap.

"What is your problem?" he shrieked, slamming his hands on the table and turning sideways to face her. "I'm sick of you insulting me and treating me like shit. You've been like this since day one, and I've done _ **nothing**_ to you. Why don't you like me?"

Brynn simply shook her head and slipped the worksheet in her bag. "Not now, Kevin."

"Yes, now. Why don't you like me? Tell me. Give it to me. Come on!"

Slipping her folder in her bag, she spun around and headed for the exit. "I have to go to work."

"No." Kevin raced ahead of her and blocked the open doorway. "You're not going anywhere. Not until you like me."

That gave Brynn pause, and she looked up at him, incredulous. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Oh hell, no. I've never been more serious in my life. Neither one of us is going anywhere until you like me."

"Kevin, come on, that's crazy."

"I don't care." Kevin knew full well just how insane he looked. But screw it, he was pissed. "Like me, damn it!"

Brynn rolled her eyes. "No, Kevin, I'm not going to like you because you hold me hostage in a classroom," she said. "You're out of your goddamn mind. Who cares if I like you? Why do you feel such a desperate need to be liked? Despite what you think, you aren't some special snowflake everyone's gotta cherish. You're just an average asshole with decent grades and a huge ego at an open-admissions university."

Kevin glared down at her, the rage he felt inside only growing. He hated her so much, despised the way she could drag him through the mud even when he thought he had the upper hand. He racked his brain for a clever and mature response, but was blocked by the ever-present mental fog.

He finally settled with, "Yeah, well, your _**mom's**_ open admissions!" before grabbing his bag and hurrying out, briefly catching a glimpse of Brynn's shocked yet mildly impressed face.

* * *

Kevin wasn't at lunch. That wasn't unusual these days, but given the events of last night, Arnold definitely felt concerned. He knew now that his friend's recent loss of appetite was a side effect from the pills and not the result of some eating disorder, but that didn't exactly make the whole thing better. Pulling out his phone, he sent his friend a quick text: _where u at?_

"What's wrong?" Naba asked. Arnold looked up to see her watching him curiously. "You've barely touched your food."

"Nothing," he said quickly. "I'm, um, texting a kid in my philosophy class! Yeah, haha, I left my notebook behind and he found it, so...yeah." Of course, there was no need to lie to her about texting Kevin—it's not like she would find that unusual or question him further—but his nerves had gotten the better of him.

Hi phone buzzed, and his eyes skimmed over Kevin's response. _I had to stay late in lab. I'll eat in the union._ Frowning, Arnold texted back: _u ok buddy?_

Kevin's response came back almost instantly: _I'm fine._

_U sure?_

The ellipses response bubble remained on Arnold's screen for what seemed like an eternity, only to be replaced with a single word: _Yes._ Arnold sighed and slipped his phone back in his pocket.

* * *

_Later That Afternoon_

"Ah, ha! There we go," Connor said once he had finally selected the proper key on the master ring for room 206, unlocking the door for the girl at his side. "You're all set."

"Thanks," she replied, stepping inside. "My roommate accidentally locked me out."

"No problem! Just remember your keys next time, okay?" With one last reassuring smile, he turned around and headed back toward the stairwell. His hand was on the door when he caught Ira out of the corner of his eye, stepping out of a room on the opposite end of the hallway. Connor paused, watching as the girl living there thanked him profusely and bid him farewell, while he simply responded with a quick wave and started in Connor's direction. Since his eyes were glued to his phone, he didn't notice Connor until he was almost directly in front of him. When he did look up, he raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"Hey, you," he said.

"I didn't know you knew Bethany," Connor said as the two entered the stairwell. "What were the two of you talking about?"

"We're in Spanish together," Ira explained, a step or two ahead of Connor. "She had to miss class yesterday, so I gave her copies of the worksheets."

"You're in Spanish?" Connor asked dubiously.

" _Hola, como estas?_ _Très_ _bien, et vous?_ " Ira rattled off.

"Hmm." Connor said. "She's been freaking out about that big test tomorrow. You're not worried about that? Sounds like the professor's pretty tough."

"He is." Ira landed at the bottom of the stairwell and pushed open the door, stepping through and then holding it open for Connor. "But I'm not worried. Whatever grade I get is the one I earned, right?"

Connor grinned and shook his head. "Well, you should be worried," he teased. "Considering you switched to French in the middle of that little spiel you gave me earlier."

Ira faltered for one split second. "Did I?" he laughed. "Damn. Took that last semester; guess that's what doubling up on foreign languages'll do to you." He gave Connor a peck on the lips and said, "I've gotta take off. See you after dinner?"

"Sure," Connor replied. He watched him hurry toward the front doors, and then he settled into a nearby chair and pulled out his phone. He lingered on Facebook for a bit before he saw Kevin step through the front doors, a distressed look on his face. As he made his way towards the elevators, a group of students playing ping pong let out a loud whoop when one of them scored a point. Kevin gave them a fierce glare and snapped, "Keep it down!"

"Sure thing, Elsa," one of them said, while the others tried to hold in snickers. Kevin furrowed his brow in confusion, but before he could say anything else the elevator doors opened and he stepped on board. Connor watched him with a small frown on his face.

Connor was certainly familiar with the former missionary feeling unwell; back in Uganda, Kevin once caught pneumonia and was bedridden and delirious for days. During that time, Connor had wasted no time in temporarily switching up companions, placing Arnold with Chris so he could remain at Kevin's side, bringing him water and cold compresses, stroking his hair, and whispering words of encouragement—which was all far less romantic than it sounds, especially when Kevin started coughing up some sort of nasty green mucous.

Just like he had back then, Connor felt an overwhelming urge to reach out to Kevin now; to take him in his arms and make all his problems disappear. Bracing himself, he started forward.

* * *

"Hey, stranger." Kevin looked up from the chemistry notes he'd just pulled out of his bag to see a smiling Connor McKinley standing in his open doorway. "Long time no see."

"Hi," Kevin replied. "Yeah, sorry; I've had a lot on my plate."

Truth was, the avoidance was no accident. Wherever Connor was, Ira was usually present as well. Kevin usually tried to avoid Ira whenever he wasn't buying from him—especially now that he would be greatly cutting back on his spending habits. But ever since he'd told Kevin his real reason for dating Connor, Kevin felt a sick, guilty feeling in his stomach every time he saw the two of them together. This feeling only worsened every time he kept his mouth shut, allowing Connor to believe that Ira really cared, all so Kevin could keep getting his fix.

While Kevin sat there lost in thought, Connor stepped fully inside the room and leaned against the wall by Kevin's desk, looking down at him in the chair with concern in his pretty blue eyes. He must have worked the lunch shift at Olive Garden today, Kevin reasoned, because he still smelled like breadsticks. Why did Kevin find that weirdly comforting? He turned his head, trying to will away the redness creeping into his cheeks.

"Are you feeling okay?" Connor asked. "You've been looking a little," he paused, grasping for the right word. "Flustered lately."

"I'm fine. Why the hell do you care?" The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could even register them, and he looked back up apologetically at Connor's face.

Thankfully, Connor hardly reacted to Kevin's words, aside from letting out a small sigh. "I may not be your district leader anymore," he said. "But I still want to make sure my mission family's happy and healthy." He knelt down so their eyes were level. "What's wrong, Kevin?"

How could he possibly reply to that? _I've been buying prescription pills from your boyfriend, but Arnold says I can't take some of them anymore and now they're all I think about. Also, they're really expensive and I owe your boyfriend a shit-ton of money, so yeah, there's that, too._

"I'm just stressed," he said. "Really, really stressed." Hey, it wasn't a lie.

Connor nodded sympathetically and began running his hand up and down along Kevin's back. "It's okay," he whispered with an encouraging smile, and Kevin hated how good his touch felt. "You'll be okay."

For the first time that day, the pills weren't at the forefront of his mind. Unfortunately, that was due to his brain being consumed with thoughts of the young man in front of him. The one giving him such an empathetic look and still rubbing his back, a gesture that Kevin's addled brain was interpreting as far more suggestive than it actually was. This was bad. Normally Kevin could keep himself in check around Connor, but in his current state of vulnerability...

"I have homework," he bit out, forcing his eyes back down to the notes on his desk.

"Got it," Connor pulled his hand away and stood up. As he made to take his leave, he paused in the doorway. "You'll talk to me if you need anything, right?"

"Of course." No way in hell.

"Good. See you around, then." With one last smile, Connor headed out.

* * *

_The Next Day_

"Just the Ativan?" Ira said as he handed over a bag. "You sure you don't want to just add it to your bill?"

"No." Kevin held out the cash insistently. "I have the money this time, so take it." He had no idea how long it would take him to pay off the rest of the debt he'd accumulate by now, but hey, he had this one covered at least.

"Okay, then." Ira replied, taking the money. "It's interesting, you know. Normally if you're only getting one it's the Adderall, though I guess you did stock up on that the other day—"

"I'm not buying that anymore."

Ira didn't even bat an eye as he slipped the money in his wallet. "Yes you are."

"No, really. I can't take it anymore; I—" Kevin paused, deciding it was better to leave Arnold out of this. "It's not good for me."

Ira gave him a bemused smirk. "You're gonna give it up cold turkey a few weeks before finals?" he asked skeptically. "Uh huh. Let me know how that goes."

"I can do it," Kevin insisted, feeling himself bristle with anger. "Why do you even want to keep selling to me, anyway? Half the time you have to give it to me for free—"

Ira snorted. "Oh, don't worry. It's not free; I'm not that generous. Want me to calculate your interest?"

"Shut up," Kevin said. He had no idea why he'd even asked that. Of course Ira loved having people indebted to and dependent on him.

"I mean, sure, sometimes I can be generous," Ira continued as if Kevin hadn't even spoken. "I charge you a little less than total strangers, for example. And then there was that free supply I gave you at Christmas. I'll probably give you something for your birthday, too. When's your birthday? Sometime in June, right?"

"June second," Kevin said automatically, before quickly adding, "I mean, no. Don't give me any Adderall for my birthday. I can stop; I know I can."

"If you say so." Ira made his way toward Kevin's door. "Well, when you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Kevin heard the door open and shut behind him and then immediately popped a couple Ativan with shaking hands, desperate for any sort of relief he could get.


	23. Double the Breadsticks, Double the Fun

_**Sophomore Year, Spring Semester** _

_**(Warning: blood, cutting)** _

**Chapter 23: Double the Breadsticks, Double the Fun**

This was fine.

It was really no big deal, Kevin decided as he stared at the grade Dr. Himawari had given him on his online discussion posting, the words _vague_ , _late_ , and _10/20_ sticking out to him on the screen. Half credit for an assignment that small was doable, right? He'd missed the deadline, after all.

Of course, it might have been easier to complete if he hadn't been tired. And nauseous, yet somehow hungry at the same time, and lost inside the cloudy maze that was his own head. In other words, he probably would've gotten it in on time if he'd had his goddamned pills.

He slammed his MacBook shut and shoved it aside, burying his head in his arms. He had been Adderall-free for one week. Arnold probably thought that was amazing, but Kevin just wanted to curl up in a ball and die. Every missed point, every minute he slept passed his alarm clock, and every symptom he experienced was one more reminder of just how inadequate he really was, until it became too much and all he could do was crawl under his covers and try to forget everything—except he could never forget, because he saw it in his dreams as well. Each night, it was same vision: staring helplessly at the rejection email from Johns Hopkins University, then watching in horror as his inbox flooded with exactly 140 messages from every other accredited MD program in the nation, all containing the same canned rejection. All the while Ira Gotfrey stood by his side, shaking his head with that sleazy smirk on his face. "Told you so," he said.

Even the memory made his insides squirm. He lifted his head and opened up his computer again, finding that damn grade still displayed front and center on screen. _Worthless_ , those tiny little numbers seemed to tell them. _Give up_. _Just take the pills_. _You need them_.

The pixels started to waver, and he felt his heart start to race. _Calm dow_ _n_ , he told himself. He just needed an Ativan, that's all. Except that would make him sleepy, and then he'd have that stupid dream again. Fuck. He snarled in frustration and forcefully pushed his chair back to stand up. If he could just stop thinking about this for one freaking minute—

A wave of dizziness hit him, and he clutched at his desk for support. After a minute or two it passed, and he noticed a slight sting in his palm. Frowning, he held his hand out to see a large splinter lodged inside, courtesy of the rough desk corner. He extracted it with two fingers easily enough, then stared in fascination at the tiny droplet of blood that leaked out. Slowly, he clenched his fist, feeling a mild, irritating pain as one of his nails pressed into the insignificant wound. He unclenched his hand once more and eyed the now-smeared drop, completely mesmerized.

To say he was struck by an idea wouldn't be quite accurate—he wasn't thinking at all, and that's exactly what he's been looking for. Numbly, he rifled through his top desk drawer and pulled out his scissors, though after examining the dull blade he dropped them back in the drawer and headed to his closet for his container full of small tools and other handy supplies. Digging out the little pocketknife he still owned from his Eagle Scout days, he returned to his desk. Under the bright light of his lamp, he flicked it open to reveal the blade, then extended his forearm and pressed it against his skin.

He hissed at the sharp pain he felt when the point punctured the surface, then gritted his teeth as he drug the blade further along, creating a shallow cut about an inch and a half in length. How peculiar it was; his arm felt like it was on fire, but he felt more at ease then he had all week. This might be just the distraction he needed. He made two more similar cuts before a two large drops of blood fell from his arm onto the computer's trackpad. His eyes lingered on the stark contrast between pure white and deep red for a moment before trailing back to his arms. Seeing the gruesome lines now, trails of blood seeping out of them and connecting to form a grotesque web of plasma and platelets, did nothing but make him sick. Great, he'd officially lost his damn mind. With bile rising in his throat, he tossed snapped the blade shut without even bothering to clean it off, then hurried back over to the closet in search of paper towels and bandages.

* * *

"You're awful quiet today," Naba remarked, scrutinizing Connor over the screen of her laptop. The two were working at a table in a corner of the union like they had done many times before in the semester, although they were usually far chattier and much less productive as a result.

Connor stifled a yawn and said, "Am I? Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Isn't that normal for you?" she asked. "I mean, not healthy, but still normal?"

"True." Connor hadn't had a hell dream since he the day he received that dreadful letter from his parents announcing they were cutting him out of their lives forever. However, years of insomnia made it a difficult habit to break, and he honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd slept more than five or six hours in one night.

"It was worse than usual this time, though," he explained. "I've been so busy with rehearsals lately that I haven't had time to work on my theatre history paper due today. I stayed up until four-thirty finishing it, then I had to be up at eight."

Naba winced and they both resumed their work in silence. After a moment, however, Connor sighed and shut the lid on his laptop. "That's not the only thing bothering me," he confessed. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course," Naba replied, closing her own computer and leaning forward, giving him her full attention. "What is it?"

Connor hesitated, not sure how to start. "Ira stopped by my room this morning," he finally said.

He went on to tell her about how he'd opened his door after Ira had knocked to find him standing there with a bouquet of roses and a smile on his face. "Happy ten months," he'd said.

"Oh my gosh." Connor had simply stood there, blinking in surprise. "Are those for me?"

"These? No, they're for my abnormal psych professor," Ira had snorted. "Of course they're for you, silly."

"They're beautiful. Thank you so much," Connor had hesitantly taken the flowers and looked up at Ira, slightly embarrassed. "I didn't know we were doing anything for 10 months."

"Me neither, until now. It was a spontaneous gesture."

Connor had stepped back to fully allow Ira into the room and looked down at the bouquet in his hands. They really were gorgeous, a variety of twelve red, orange, and yellow roses all perfectly arranged. "Why are you doing this?" he'd asked.

"Doing what? Buying you flowers?"

"No. I mean—yes, but not just that. Buying me flowers, taking me out to dinner all the time, giving me this watch for Christmas. Why do you do so much for me?"

"Connor, isn't that what boyfriends are supposed to do?"

He'd shifted his eyes away from Ira in guilt. "I don't do nearly as much for you."

"That's fine. I know money's tight and you've got a lot going on. I do it because I want to. And I want to because, well…" Ira had pulled the bouquet away from Connor and set it down on the desk, then rested his hands on Connor's waist. "I guess it's because no one's ever made me feel like this before."

Now, Naba clapped her hands in delight the moment the words left his mouth. "He's in _**love**_ withyou!" she squealed.

"He didn't say that," Connor argued. "Not specifically."

"But what else could he have meant?" Naba was practically bouncing in her seat. "This is wonderful, Connor, I'm so happy for you! How did you respond?"

"Honestly, I didn't know what to say," he replied. "So we just made out instead."

"I can't believe you two have gone this long without saying I love you," she remarked. "What's the delay?"

_Who knows?_ Connor thought. _On my end, maybe the fact that your dad said I shouldn't trust him_. He simply grinned at her and replied, "Just because Arnold jumped the gun and told you before you'd even started dating doesn't mean we're all so hasty."

"Shut up." Naba giggled and reached forward, smacking his shoulder. "Don't make fun of him; I thought it was sweet." Then she leaned back again and crossed her arms. "So what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, are you going to tell him you love him back?"

Connor was silent, fingers tapping the lid of his laptop. Naba eyed him and furrowed her brow.

"You _**do**_ love him, don't you?" she asked. "Ten months is a long time."

"I—um…I don't know," he admitted. "I like him. I care about him a lot, really, but...gosh, I just don't know." Would he be willing to give his life for Ira, the way he would for Naba or Chris or any of the other friends he held dear? Maybe. Probably. But that certainly wasn't the only measure for being in love, was it? Not to mention, Mafala's words still lingered at the back of his mind, though over the months he'd come to doubt they had any basis. And then there was that one tiny detail, the factor he hoped so badly that Naba wouldn't pick up on—

"Connor," she said sharply, pulling him back to focus. "Are you still in love with Kevin?"

"No," he replied, a little too quickly.

"You are, aren't you?" she challenged. "Connor!"

"I'm not, I mean it," he pressed on. "At least…" he stared down at his hand, chewing on his bottom lip. "I don't want to be."

The look in Naba's eyes was almost sad. "You can't date one person when you're in love with someone else," she said. "That isn't fair to Ira."

"I'm getting over Kevin," he clarified. "It's just, well, it's taking a while." After all, he'd long ago given up any hope of the two of them ever being together. Kevin said he wasn't interested, so that was it. Though maybe it wouldn't have been so difficult to move on if they hadn't kissed in Uganda, if he didn't know how good his lips tasted or how nice he felt in Kevin's arms or how—

_Enough_ , he told himself.

Naba reached forward and rested her hand on top of his. "Are you sure you are happy with Ira?"

"Yes," he insisted. "He means a lot to me. I can definitely see myself falling in love with him, it's just gonna take a bit for me to actually do so, okay?"

"Okay," she said uncertainly. "If that is really how you feel." She gave his hand a quick pat before drawing her own back and opening up her laptop. Connor opened his as well.

"You know," he said, eyes on the screen. "You don't have to worry about me so much."

"I can't help it," she replied. "I hate the thought of you being unhappy; you've been through too much for that shit."

He laughed. "That's really sweet," he said. "Thank you."

* * *

_The Following Evening_

"Watcha working on?" Arnold asked, plopping down next to Kevin on the bed and peering over at the paper in his lap.

"Math tutor application for Fall," Kevin explained. "If I'm not gonna be an RA anymore, then I want something else to add to my résumé."

"Oh, hey, that's a good idea," Arnold said, nodding enthusiastically. "You love math; you'd be a kick-ass tutor. And it's probably less stressful than the whole RA thing. You'll totally get the job, I'm sure." He kicked back and sighed happily, but then abruptly sat back up as he remembered something.

"And check it out!" he cried. "One whole week without those pills! Nice! How're you feeling, buddy?"

Kevin shrugged. "Yesterday was a week, actually."

"Really?" Arnold's eyes widened. "Holy cow, then it's a whole week _**and**_ a day! Awesome. No more pills, and you're applying for a new job. How cool is that? We've gotta celebrate, maybe go to Olive Garden and see if Connor'll bring us double the breadsticks. That's double the fun! Is he working tonight? Do you even want Olive Garden? You've been eating more, so that's good." He decided not to comment on the trashcan overflowing with empty Starbucks cups, Red Bull cans, and those disgusting little five-hour energy bottles.

"Olive Garden's fine," Kevin said dully.

"Cool beans. Let's go!" Arnold hopped off the bed and grabbed Kevin's left arm to pull him up, only for him to hiss in pain and jerk it back. Arnold started and looked at him in surprise. "You okay, bestie?"

Clearly Kevin hadn't meant to have such an acute reaction, if the exaggerated nonchalance he was displaying now was any indication. "Me? Yeah, I'm fine," he said, standing up and digging around on his uncharacteristically cluttered desk for his keys. "Come on, let's head over before they get too crowded."

"What's wrong with your arm?" Arnold asked, undeterred.

"Nothing, it's fine! Just a little bruised. I, uh, must have bumped it yesterday. Come on, you said you wanted those breadsticks, right? "

Arnold narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and once Kevin finally snatched up his keyring, he hurried over to block Kevin's path before he could reach the door.

"Roll up your sleeve," he said.

Kevin balked. "Why?"

"I don't believe you. You wouldn't be acting all funny about it if you'd just bumped your arm. Roll up your sleeve."

Kevin gave an exaggerated sigh and tugged up his right sleeve, revealing the perfectly intact skin underneath. "There, happy?"

"Nice try, buddy. Other arm."

The look Kevin gave him was almost pleading, begging him to just let this go, but no way in hell was that happening now. Finally, Kevin relented and slowly pulled his left sleeve up past the bandages on his arm.

Arnold sucked in a breath through closed teeth. "What happened?"

Kevin murmured something unintelligible and stared down at the floor in shame.

"Did you do that to yourself?" Arnold pressed on. "Kevin, have you been cutting yourself because you can't take Adderall?"

"It only happened once. Yesterday," he replied quietly.

"Why would you do that?"

Kevin continued to look down in silence. "Kevin," Arnold pressed on. "Why did you cut yourself?"

The silence went on for another moment before surprisingly, Kevin started to snicker.

"Because I'm crazy," he said, his quiet chuckles slowly building up to full-on laughter. "I am, you know? I broke my brain when I quit taking the pills, and now I'm basically insane. Isn't that hilarious." He sat back down on the bed and buried his face in his hands as the laughter abruptly turned into sobs.

All thoughts of dinner now completely forgotten, Arnold settled down next to Kevin and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug.

"Oh Kev," he said as his friend cried into his shoulder. "You're not crazy. You're just struggling to deal with some stuff." He patted Kevin's back and added, "But I feel like, um, maybe we're in starting to get in over our heads a little. Don't you think so? I think you should talk to a counselor."

Kevin choked back a sob and pulled away. "No," he said flatly.

"No? But Kevin, don't you think—"

"I'm not going to counseling, Arnold. What if my parents find out?"

"They're not gonna find out. Counselors can't say anything about it. Plus, Connor says there's some on campus for free, so you won't have to worry about your parents finding out because of insurance or anything like—"

"I don't care. I already know I'm a mess; I don't need someone else telling me," Kevin snapped, standing up and stepping away from Arnold.

"It's not about telling you have a problem," Arnold stressed, eyes focused on Kevin's back. "It's about fixing the problem. I'm worried about you, okay? You're not handling this well, and I really think you need someone else to help you. Someone with training, y'know?"

Kevin shook his head and turned back around. "Arnold, I broke the law," he said. "I took those things without a prescription; if I tell a counselor they'll just report me."

Now Arnold was starting to get annoyed. "No they won't," he said. "See, I've been kinda worried about you all week, so I asked Connor what would happen if a resident needed help with a prescription pill addiction. He said—"

"You told him?" Kevin cut him off, a panicked look in his eyes. "How could you—"

"No, no, hypothetically!" Arnold quickly corrected him. "I never mentioned you. It was fine, you know how much he loves talking about all this dorm stuff. He didn't pick up on anything at all. Anyway, that's when he told me about the counseling center, and he also said the staff usually don't call the police unless they're selling. Oh, and guess what, he learned that at RA training." He gave Kevin a pointed stare and added, "Which means you also learned it at RA training, so obviously you know all that already and you're just saying all this about being reported to try and get me to back down. Not happening."

Kevin rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "I don't need counseling. I'm not _**addicted**_ —"

"You totally are addicted."

"—and I can fix this myself—"

"You cut up your arm, buddy."

Kevin glared at him, and Arnold tried to match it with his own determined stare. Finally, Kevin sighed and looked away.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"Promise? That you'll actually think about it and won't just say you will?"

"Fine. I promise."

Arnold nodded. "Okay, cool."

"Come on." Kevin picked up his keys from where he had dropped them on the bed. "Let's go to dinner."

Just as he was about to open up the door, however, Arnold lurched forward and pulled him into another hug.

"I love you, Kevin," he said. "You're my best friend in the whole world. Don't you dare hurt yourself again, okay?"

* * *

_The Next Morning_

Kevin was still planning to quit. There was no doubt about it. He told himself that over and over again as he approached Ira for a fresh new batch of Adderall.

"Shut up," he spat the second he second he saw Ira's smirk, before the other could even open his mouth. "I'm still quitting, you know. Cold turkey isn't working for me, that's all. I'm gonna do it gradually." After thinking about it for a moment, he added, "Can you give me a higher dose of Ativan, too?"

The rest of the transaction was a blur. As Ira gave him the total and added it to his ever-growing tab, he didn't focus on the anxiety he felt at the next several paychecks going down the drain trying to pay him off, or the shame of coming to Ira with his tail between his legs, or the guilt of lying through his teeth to Arnold about considering a counselor. All he knew was that he couldn't wait for Ira to leave so he could pop one of those tablets in his mouth and finally feel like himself again.


	24. When the Liar is Deceived

_**Sophomore Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 24: When the Liar is Deceived**

"This is nice," Naba remarked, looking around the steakhouse where she, Arnold, and Connor had all spontaneously agreed to have a mid-week off-campus lunch. "It's too bad the others all had class. Where's Ira?"

"He went home for the afternoon. It's his mom's birthday," Connor explained. "But that's fine; it can be just the three of us. So, Arnold," He looked up at him across the table, his smile bright. "Are you ready to start in on some of your major classes next semester?"

"Yeah, kind of," Arnold replied as he dipped a fry in ketchup. "I get to take fiction writing, which is awesome. But I also have to take some class called Critical Approaches to Literature, which sounds kinda hard."

"Really? How so?" Connor asked. "What're you supposed to do in there?"

"Oh, um, you're supposed to, y'know, learn about critical approaches to literature and stuff."

Connor gave him a bemused look and opened his mouth in response, but his attention was diverted when the server brought the second mojito he'd requested.

Once he'd thanked her and she had taken her leave, Arnold eyed the tall glass skeptically. "Hey, uh, aren't musical theatre people not supposed to drink much alcohol?" he asked. "Because it affects your voice or something?"

Connor just shrugged dismissively and took a long sip.

"Well, anyway," Naba chimed in. "I'm happy you are excited for your fiction class, Arnold. I can't wait to read some of your new stories."

Arnold took a giant bite out of his burger and nodded eagerly. "Yep," he said after he'd swallowed. "I should totally start practicing this summer. Maybe I'll write sci-fi, or a cool action thriller! Kevin says I'll probably have to write something more _**literary**_ or whatever—" he made air quotes as he uttered the word. "But what does he know? He's a science major."

"Yeah, about Kevin," Connor began tentatively. "Is he, well, is he okay? You've obviously seen him more than I have lately, but he seem…" he drifted off, searching for the right description before settling with, "A bit off, I guess."

Arnold felt his heart quicken as he replied, "Um, yeah, he's fine. He's just, y'know, a little sick right now." Hey, it wasn't a total lie.

Unfortunately, the second he saw Connor's brow crease in concern he knew he should've gone in a different direction. "What's wrong with him?" Connor asked. "Does he need to see a doctor? Has he visited the health center? If he's had to miss class, has he spoken to his professors? What about—"

"No, no, nothing like that!" Arnold laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck, where nervous sweat was starting to appear. "He's just, uh, a little under the weather from stress and stuff. He'll be fine, totally."

Connor studied Arnold intently as he stirred his drink with the straw, and Arnold felt himself wither a little under his gaze. "Are you sure?" Connor asked.

Naba placed a hand on Connor's arm. "Kevin is a grown man; he can take care of himself," she said. "I'm sure he is watching out for his health. He plans to become a doctor himself, after all."

"Right," Connor said, and although he still looked a little doubtful, at least he let it go for now.

Arnold zoned out as Naba and Connor moved on to another topic. He wished he could join in with them, eating their lunch and chatting animatedly without a care in the world, but he couldn't shake the queasy feeling in his gut as he thought about his best friend. Was Arnold doing the right thing by keeping quiet? Kevin would never forgive him if he opened his mouth, but maybe this was bigger than their friendship. Kevin's health was at stake, after all, and Arnold still had the image of those bandages on his arm etched in his bran…

He looked up from his food and stared at Naba and Connor. He wanted to tell them both so bad, Naba in particular. It didn't really make sense—Connor had training in crisis management and could honestly handle the situation better than she—but it was so much harder to keep this from her, especially now that he couldn't help but feel his friendship with Kevin was falling apart.

Naba must have sensed his gaze, and she paused mid-sentence to look at him, eyebrows raised in concern. "What's wrong, Arnold?" she asked. "Do you want to say something?"

They were both right there; it was now or never. He took a deep breath, but then felt his stomach flop and said, "Nah, just thinking about a project I've got coming up."

* * *

_Meanwhile…_

It was easier to get by now that Kevin had some Adderall in his possession. At least he thought so. He'd hold off as long as he could, and then gulp one down when the symptoms became too much to bear. He liked to think he was starting to experience longer intervals in between doses, though perhaps that was only wishful thinking.

He'd just gotten out of class and was now in his room trying to focus on his microbiology paper, but his eyes kept straying down to his bottom desk drawer, where those miracle pills were waiting. Sure, he wasn't feeling quite bad enough yet, but he had to get this assignment done in the next hour so he could move on to the never-ending workload that was chem. One couldn't hurt, right?

Kevin scowled and snapped his focus back to the screen. No. Those pills were only for when he needed them the most. He'd made a promise to Arnold, and there was no way he'd ever be able to fully quit if he kept taking them the minute he felt the slightest hint of discomfort. Besides, he'd be damned if he proved Ira right and had to go back for more before they'd even reached finals week.

He'd get through this paper without them, somehow, which would put him one step closer to being done with them for good. There were only about two and a half weeks left in the semester, after all. Then he'd be done with these awful classes and his stupid RA duties. He'd have an entire summer to recover before coming back, new and improved, ready to ace every challenge set before him and graduate with an acceptance letter from the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine in his hands.

Of course, that was only how one tiny portion of his brain saw it. The bigger part knew this meant he only had two and a half weeks to raise his abysmal grades—though he couldn't understand how he'd them slip in the first place—and he was definitely looking at another B or two, so would JHU even consider him anymore? What would he do if they didn't?

Maybe he could go to the University of Central Florida. Sure, their MD program was still fairly new and therefore nowhere near as established and highly ranked as Johns Hopkins, but hey, he'd get to Orlando sooner rather than later. That would be awesome, right? So what if he failed at some personal goals along the way?

Oh God, that word. Failure. He felt his breath hitch slightly and his pulse start to race. The Ativan was in his hands before he even really thought about it; he popped one in his mouth and tried to clear his head.

Everything would be fine, he told himself. He could fix this, one thing at a time. For now, all he had to do was finish this stupid assignment in front of him. And then tonight, he'd finally let himself have another dose of Adderall before tackling the rest.

* * *

_That Evening_

As Arnold made his way up to Kevin's room, he tried to reassure himself that he'd done the right thing at lunch. Connor and Naba didn't need to know. Kevin said he could get better on his own, and Arnold had to trust him. Besides, he'd seemed a little better the last time they'd spoken. Maybe a little _**too**_ much better, but Arnold tried not to dwell on the website he'd read yesterday that suggested Kevin should still be facing withdrawal symptoms at this point. He shoved all these thoughts to the back of his mind and knocked on his friend's door

Kevin swung it open and blinked in surprise when he saw him. "Hey," he said. "I didn't know you were stopping by."

"Um, yeah." Arnold shrugged. "I was thinking we could be study buddies tonight."

Kevin looked him up and down and then nodded. "Sure," he said, stepping back to let Arnold in. "I was just gonna get a shower and then work for a few more hours. You can hang out here if you want while I'm gone; get started on your stuff or whatever."

"Okay, cool." Arnold took a seat on Kevin's bed and studied him while grabbed his shower bag and pajamas from the closet. Why did he seem so…so calm? There was a steady focus in his eyes that Arnold hadn't seen in a long time—at least, not since Kevin had given up the pills. He watched Kevin grab his towel and throw it over his shoulder, and a single factoid from that website he'd visited played through his mind: _relapse was common_.

"Be right back," Kevin called as he stepped out into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind him.

"See ya," came Arnold's delayed response. Surely he had to be reading this all wrong. Kevin made a promise to him; no way would he go back on it. He was stronger than that, wasn't he?

Only one way to find out. Before he could dwell too much on the consequences of being caught, Arnold leapt up off the bed and snatched up Kevin's messenger bag. He fished through each pocket one by one, finding nothing suspicious save for a travel-size bottle of Aleve, the label old and worn. Nothing wrong with some plain old headache medicine, but he figured a little more investigation couldn't hurt. Popping it open, he frowned as he shook out a few white, pentagon-shaped pills. Well, that certainly looked nothing like the Adderall he'd had before. Was this what Aleve looked like? He wasn't sure; his mom only kept regular Tylenol around the house. Arnold slipped the pills back into the bottle, then stuck it back inside the bag and moved over to the dresser.

He opened up the drawers one by one, careful to fully check each one without messing up the neatly folded piles of clothes. No luck there—but that was a good thing; so far it looked like Kevin was still on track. He looked over at the desk and bit his lip in thought.

Why didn't he check there first? Kevin practically _**lived**_ at that desk. He pulled open the top drawer first, finding nothing but the pens and pencils, highlighters, paper clips, etc. that he expected. Next came the middle drawer; nothing but extra paper, notebooks, and folders there. He was practically holding his breath as his eyes shifted down to the bottom drawer. His hand hovered over the handle for a moment. Did he really want to do this?

Yes, he decided. Yes he did. Bracing himself, he pulled the drawer back as far as it could go, only to find...a box of blank CDs, a couple hanging file folders with owner's manuals and other important documents, Kevin's checkbook, two flashcard holders (one white and one black), multiple stacks of used flashcards with rubber bands wrapped around them, and several more unopened stacks. So that was it, then. Arnold breathed a sigh of relief. Looks like he was clean after all. It's not like he would hide them under his bed or stuffed in the back of his closet, right?

Hold on…

Arnold gazed down at those flashcard boxes and wondered, why did he have so many packs lying around in rubber bands when he had these neat little holders? Sure, Kevin used a ton of flashcards, but…

He plucked one of the boxes out—the white one—and opened it up, feeling his heart sink when he found the bag inside, full of those stupid Adderall pills he'd come to detest.

_He lied to me_ , he thought. _He told me he was done. I trusted him, and that asshole_ **lied** _to me_. It was almost funny; as someone who struggled with the truth himself, Arnold liked to think he could be sympathetic to a little fabrication here and there. But this was so much more than a simple white lie. Maybe that's why it hurt so much.

The tell-tale sound of the squeaky bathroom door swinging open down the hall snapped him back to focus, and he suddenly remembered he was on a time limit. He quickly pulled the baggie out and returned the flashcard holder to its original position, then hopped back onto the bed and stuffed the pills into his own backpack. He just barely managed to grab his pencil and open up his binder to look busy before Kevin walked through the door, clad in his pajamas with his hair still damp.

"Hey," he said, tossing his dirty clothes in the overflowing hamper and ignoring them when they simply fell out onto the floor by its side.

"Hey," Arnold replied casually.

He had no idea how he was going to bring this whole thing up. So maybe he'd just ignore it for now.

* * *


	25. Johns Hopkins is Too Good For Your C

_**Sophomore Year, Spring Semester** _

_**(Warning: attempted suicide)** _

**Chapter 25: Johns Hopkins is Too Good For Your C**

Kevin's phone alarm blared that morning promptly at 8 a.m., and it took every bit of motivation he had in him to crack open his eyes. He mulled over what sounded worse: having to lift his arm and reach over to shut the damn thing up, or staying right where he was while it carried on all morning. Eventually, he stretched his arm out and grappled with it on the windowsill, resetting it for 8:30. He could still make it to his 9 a.m. class, right? Sure he could.

Thirty minutes later, he decided he didn't really need to go to class at all.

* * *

Arnold sat in the back of the psychology lecture hall, not even trying to pay attention to the professor. Normally he liked this class, but he didn't have time for Pavlov or PowerPoint slides right now; all he could think about was finding that bag of pills in Kevin's room last night.

He should have confronted him right then and there. How was he supposed to bring it up now? Should he even say anything at all? Well, he'd stolen the bag, so obviously Kevin would figure out something was up soon enough. Had he already noticed?

As he thought this over, some small part of his brain registered his professor saying the words "these terms" and "exam." He jerked himself out of his stupor, quickly jotting down everything that was on the slide.

He had to talk to Kevin today. Later this afternoon, as soon as he got the chance.

* * *

_That Afternoon_

This couldn't be right.

Kevin was on his way out of the dining hall—where he'd forced himself to choke down half a turkey sandwich after finally dragging himself out of bed—when he'd pulled up his email on his phone, and he stared down now at the tiny screen in shock. He read over the message one more time:

_Dear Kevin,_

_Your Organic Chemistry II professor has expressed a concern regarding your performance in class. Remember, to succeed in this course, you'll need to keep up with all readings and assignments, utilize chemistry tutoring as needed, and work with your professor. This will require your time and commitment! Please contact your both professor and advisor as soon—_

He growled under his breath in disgust, returned his phone to his pocket, and headed straight for Science Laboratory.

The door to Dr. Brenner's office was wide open when Kevin arrived; he was seated at his desk with his eyes glued to his dual monitors. Kevin stormed right in without so much as a polite knock on the door frame.

"You submitted an academic concern for me?!" he demanded, tossing his phone onto the desk with the email still pulled up on screen.

"Ah, Mr. Price, have a seat," the professor drawled. He picked up the phone, skimmed the message, and then slid it back over to Kevin. "Good to know they actually do something about those requests. Where were you when we had class this morning?"

"I was…" Kevin hesitated, lowering himself down into a chair. _Tired_ probably wouldn't go over well with Dr. Brenner. "That's not the point. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this email is? Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm concerned for your academics. I figured my intent was quite clear."

"Well, that's very thoughtful of you," Kevin began dryly. "But you don't have anything to be worried about. I'm doing fine; I have everything under control."

Dr. Brenner finally dropped a bit of his caustic front, removing his bifocals and looking Kevin in the eye. "Mr. Price—Kevin," he started. "You were a fine student in Organic Chem I. A little difficult to manage at times, but you did well nonetheless. But this semester your performance has dropped drastically, and _**that's**_ why I'm concerned."

"Look, I know I've had a few setbacks," Kevin said. "But I can pull my grade up if I—"

"You're currently failing my class, Kevin. I'd hardly call that just a few setbacks."

Now Kevin's stomach dropped, and he faced Dr. Brenner in disbelief. "I'm _**failing**_?" he asked weakly.

"Unfortunately, yes," Dr. Brenner said. "I had a chat with your advisor, Dr. Himawari. She says you've ignored her emails and haven't been in to see her recently, and you're barely scraping a C in her class, which is quite unusual for you. You can probably expect one of those concern emails from her as well."

Kevin barely even registered large portions of that statement. "Well, I thought I was scraping a C in chem, too," he argued. "I was sure I could pull it up to a B. How can I possibly be failing?"

"Your exams and reports have been subpar," Dr. Brenner replied. "You've also lost participation points by missing several classes and labs, and you haven't posted in a single discussion board since January. That's a good-sized chunk of your grade."

Kevin buried his face in his hands as he realized his mistake. "I forgot about the discussion boards," he groaned. Then he looked back up at the professor with hopeful eyes. "Is there any way I could make those up?"

Dr. Brenner shook his head. "You know I don't accept late work."

"Can't you make an exception?" Kevin pleaded. "I have discussion boards in, like, four of my classes. This one just fell off my radar."

"And I'm sure your fellow students also have a lot going on," Dr. Brenner countered. "Granting you an exception wouldn't be fair to them." As he spoke, he slipped his glasses back on and clicked through several windows on his computer until he located Kevin's grades. "Right now you're sitting at 57 percent in lecture. Keep in mind that if you do finish out the semester with an F, you're welcome to retake the class in summer or fall."

Kevin shook his head. "I can't fail," he said adamantly. "Even if I retake it and the new grade replaces the F on my GPA, it'll still show up on my transcript. Every grad school I apply to will see I failed the first time around."

"Then you'll have to put a lot more effort into your remaining assignments and the final exam if you want to raise your grade. It's not impossible to bring it up to a C."

"What about a B?" Kevin ventured. "Is a B still possible?"

Dr. Brenner gazed at the screen, lips pursed in thought. "If you ace everything from this point on, including the final exam, you could potentially receive a low B," he said. "But I wouldn't count on it. My final is comprehensive and quite rigorous, and if your other exam scores are anything to go by—"

"I can do better," Kevin assured him, although his stomach churned. Getting a B was bad enough, but a C was unthinkable. "I have to. I need to get into med school at Johns Hopkins, and I can't do that with low grades on my transcript."

The professor practically scoffed. "You're going to have to do _**much**_ better," he said. "Because as it stands now, you have absolutely no chance of getting into a school like Johns Hopkins."

Kevin looked away and tried to swallow down the lump in his throat.

Dr. Brenner leaned back in his chair and scrutinized him, brow furrowed. "What's going on with you?" he asked. "It's unusual for someone with such high ambitions to drop the ball this badly. Is everything okay?"

"It's fine," Kevin said tightly. Sure, he'd just been told he probably wouldn't be accepted to his dream school, but really, everything was simply grand.

"Do you need to talk to someone? We do have a counseling center—"

"Oh my God; why is everyone trying to get me into counseling?" Kevin snapped. "I'm fine! I have everything under control, and I'm _**not**_ crazy!"

Dr. Brenner leaned forward once more and propped his elbows up on the desk, resting his chin in his clasped hands and eyeing Kevin over the rim of his bifocals. "I never said anything about being crazy."

Kevin just shook his head and stood up. "Thanks for your help, professor," he said, grabbing his bag and turning around. "I'll try harder."

"Kevin," Dr. Brenner called, but Kevin was already out the door.

His mind raced as he rushed down the hallway toward the nearest exit. He had to ace everything from this point, including that damn final which was worth, what, a quarter of his grade? He'd never managed a perfect score on one of Brenner's exams, not even last semester when he'd had his shit together. How the hell was he going to pull this off?

Stupid Organic Chemistry II. Stupid discussion boards. Stupid Dr. Brenner with his stupid bifocals and judgmental attitude. Stupid Arnold for making him give up the one thing that had been holding him together.

Well, fuck that. He had a ton of work to do, and he needed his goddamned pills.

When he reached his residence hall he headed straight to his room, unlocking the door with a shaky hand. Once inside, he took a seat at his desk and pulled open the bottom desk drawer, then reached for the white flashcard holder. When he opened it up, he paused and simply stared.

There was nothing inside.

Dumbfounded, his first impulse was to close the box and open it back up again. When that obviously didn't work, he tossed the flashcard holder aside and searched around the rest of the drawer. The bag of Ativan was in the black flashcard holder, he knew the old travel-sized Aleve bottle containing a few pills for on the go was still in his bag, and everything else in the drawer was still in place. So where the hell was his Adderall?

He'd put it back the last time he'd used it; he was sure he had. Or had he? Fuck if he knew right now. He stood up and pulled open the other drawers, frantically rifling through them one by one.

"Hey, buddy." The sound of Arnold's voice in the open doorway almost made him jump out of his skin. "Wanna come to the union with me?"

"Can't," Kevin said abruptly, stepping toward the closet and gripping his hair in his hands. This was driving him insane. "I'm busy."

"Oh yeah?" There was something about Arnold's tone that pissed him off. "Watcha doing?"

"Just—" Damn it, why was he here right _**now**_? "Reorganizing, okay?"

As he shifted around the closet shelves, he heard Arnold step inside and shut the door. "Reorganizing, huh? You sure you're not looking for your secret stash of Adderall?"

Kevin froze and felt his heart skip a beat. He knew. How did he know? When had he—

Wait. Last night, when he'd left him alone in here…shit. Kevin spun around and gave him his fiercest glare. "You went through my stuff?" he snarled.

Arnold took a seat on the bed, unfazed. "Uh huh," he said.

Kevin snapped the closet doors shut and leaned back against them, arms crossed. "What'd you do with them?" he demanded.

"You're seriously asking that?" Arnold replied. "You lied to me about having them in the first place, and now that's all you have to say?"

"This isn't about you," Kevin shot back. "Where the hell are they, Arnold!?"

"I flushed them."

Kevin's stomach dropped. "You—you flushed them?" he sputtered.

"Yep. I found them in your desk, put them in my backpack, and then flushed them."

"What is _**wrong**_ with you?" Kevin shrieked. "I need those, Arnold! Do you know how much I paid for them? I have so much to do, and I need them right freaking now, and I can't have them because you fucking threw them away!"

"Why do we keep going over this?" Arnold exclaimed. "You don't need them."

"Yes, I do," Kevin retorted. "I can't think without them, Arnold! How the hell am I supposed accomplish anything otherwise?"

Arnold opened his mouth to respond, then paused, reconsidered and said. "What were those other pills?"

Kevin felt his pulse quicken and decided to play dumb. "What other pills?"

"The ones in that Aleve bottle you had in your bag. I googled Aleve, and it doesn't look like that."

"Oh, you went through my bag too, did you!?"

"Cut to the chase, Kevin. What were they?"

Kevin groaned and slid down to the floor, his face in his hands. "Ativan," he admitted. "They're Ativan, because I can't get out of bed in the mornings, and I feel panicky all the time, and I can't even be bothered to comb my hair or do laundry anymore, because my life has no meaning. There, happy?"

Arnold sighed. "The only reason you can't think is because you're going through withdrawal," he said. "And if it's that bad—and if you're really that depressed—then you need to get some help."

"I don't need help!" Kevin looked up and scowled. "I'm not gonna screw up my whole life and risk my parents finding out just for therapy."

"You're screwing up your whole life _**right now**_!" Arnold threw up his hands, exasperated. "You don't have ADHD, Kevin. Don't you think it's a little sad you're so dependent on a drug used to treat a condition you don't have?"

Kevin growled under his breath and looked away. "It's not that simple," he said. "Do you know what's at stake here? I'm failing a class, and without those pills I'm looking at a C at best—"

"Oh, you poor thing." Arnold rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not a C! How will you ever go on? Seriously, you know how many Cs I've gotten? Even Connor has a couple. Newsflash: people get average grades sometimes, Kevin. Life goes on. And if the University of Kentucky can't accept that, then—"

"Johns Hopkins," Kevin corrected through gritted teeth, standing back up and resuming his original position against the closet doors. "For the millionth time, it's Johns Hopkins, damn it! Do you know their med school's acceptance rate? Roughly five percent, out of thousands of applicants. They don't take people with average grades, okay?"

"How do you know? Are you on the admissions committee?"

"It's obvious, Arnold."

"Fine, then screw 'em! Pick a different school. Good Lord, you act like the only way you can become a doctor is if you go to that specific college. Which is why I've put together a list of twenty-five other med schools—that's how many I wrote down before I got bored—and I'm gonna read them to you out loud." Arnold pulled a wrinkled square of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and cleared his throat. "University of Utah, Louisiana State, George Washington University—"

"Oh my God, stop. When did you even write this?"

"Florida State—that one's in Florida, a real good school for you—Emory University, Kansas City University of Medicine and Bio—"

"Okay, I get it!"

"I don't think you do, Kev." Arnold let the paper fall into his lap. "You don't need a perfect GPA to get into med school. You need to be really smart and get really good grades and test scores, yeah, but a B or C here and there won't hurt you. You'll get in somewhere, and then you'll graduate and become an awesome doctor in Orlando if that's what you want. So relax."

But that wasn't what Kevin wanted. The job in Orlando part, sure, but he didn't want to graduate from just _**somewhere**_. Why couldn't Arnold understand that he finally wanted something to go exactly as he planned? To say he was gonna do something and then actually do it?

"Don't tell me what to do," he snapped. "Maybe I don't want to go to Louisiana State or KCUMB; did you ever think of that?"

"Holy moly, it's like talking to a wall," Arnold muttered. "I'm tired of dealing with this, Kevin! I'm sick of putting up with your crap!"

"Oh, you're one to talk," Kevin retorted. "You don't think I have to put up with enough from you?"

"No, actually, I know you do. You've always been quick to let me know whenever something bothers you. Every little time things aren't exactly perfect—because it's always gotta be perfect with you, doesn't it? You're so desperate for perfection that you'll drug yourself into oblivion to get it. Well, guess what, _**pal**_?" He spat the usually endearing term with such distaste that Kevin almost flinched. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. You're never gonna be perfect!"

Kevin could practically feel his blood boiling. "Shut the hell up and leave me alone."

"Nuh uh, buddy, it's truth time. You're not perfect. No one can be; it's impossible." For a split second, Arnold seemed to hesitate before plowing on. "You know what I think this is about? I think you're compensating, and it's never gonna work. No matter how much you try to cover things up with perfect grades, a fancy RA position, and sky-high goals, there's always gonna be that one tiny part of you that just drives you crazy. I think we both know what I'm talking about."

Kevin rolled his eyes, wondering how much time he'd already wasted on this conversation. "No, honestly, I have no idea."

"No? Okay, then. Well, you're gay, Kevin." Before Kevin could protest, he quickly added, "You made out with Connor at our going-away party in Uganda."

At that, Kevin felt as if the hot blood in his veins had abruptly froze. No, he couldn't possibly… "How do you know about that?" he asked, voice trembling. He shook with anger as he spoke. "Did Connor tell you?! How could he—"

"Oh my gosh, no," Arnold said in exasperation. "I _**saw**_ you, Kevin. And you looked really into it, too."

"Shut up." Kevin's heart was racing, and that all-too-familiar queasiness had settled in his gut. He wanted to vomit. "I wasn't into—"

"Yeah, you were. And you're totally jealous of Ira now; I can tell—"

"I don't want to talk about this—"

"Why don't you just accept it? You're gay, Kevin, and the sooner you realize—"

" _ **Stop**_!" Kevin shrieked. There were tears in his eyes; when had he started crying? He wrapped his arms around himself defensively and looked away. "Oh my god, just stop! Why are you doing this?"

Arnold finally relented. "It's okay," he said softly. "You're still my best friend, you know."

He stood up stepped forward to give Kevin a hug, and Kevin jerked away. "Don't touch me," he spat. Then he stepped over to the cluttered desk and dug out his chemistry book. "I have to study," he said. "We have a quiz Monday, and it's gonna be hard as hell, and I have to get a hundred." He shoved the book in his bag and turned toward the door.

"You can't study in here?" Arnold asked.

"No, because thanks to you I don't have any Adderall in here," Kevin snapped. "So I've gotta go get some more."

"What? No!" Arnold moved around him to block the exit.

"Get out of my way, Arnold. Get out of my room, while you're at it."

"No way. Don't you dare go buy more. If you do, I'll…I'll tell your parents!" Arnold took a deep breath and stood up a little straighter. "Yeah, I totally will."

That should've terrified Kevin, but he was so sick of everything that he didn't even care anymore. "Of course you will," he growled. "Go ahead and tell my supervisor as well. You sure you don't want to tell my parents about the party in Uganda, too? Since, y'know, you're so intent on ruining my life?"

Arnold sputtered. "I'm not the one ruining—no. No, you know what, Kevin? Fuck you." He stepped out of the way and started back toward the bed for his stuff. "I'm done. I take back what I said before. You're not my best friend anymore. I tried to help you, and all you did was treat me like crap. Drug yourself to death for all I care."

With that, Arnold slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way over to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "Oh, and I take back another thing, too," he said. "Remember that time you cut your arm, when you called yourself crazy and I said you weren't? Well, you are. You're the craziest person I know." Then he pulled open the door, stepped out, and shut it loudly behind him.

Kevin simply stood there and stared, outraged. "I…" he began, to no one in particular. "I hate you, Arnold Cunningham!" he cried, before unsuccessfully trying to choke back a sob.

* * *

_That Evening_

"Should I use the Cambria font or the Georgia one?" Nabulungi asked as she made final edits on her essay for Introductory College Writing. When both of her table-mates merely shrugged in response, she let out a sigh.

She could see where Connor was coming from. He'd finally gotten through the last performance of the theatre season last weekend, and between rehearsals, hell week, RA duty, and his job at Olive Garden, he'd barely had time for anything else and was now playing catch-up. Therefore, it was no surprise that he was listlessly typing out yet another assignment, overworked and half-awake. Arnold's lack of interest, however, was definitely unexpected. He never ignored anything his friends asked of him.

"Try to cheer up," she told them both. "Only about two weeks left and we will be finished!"

"I'll cheer up when I can finally get a full five hours of sleep again," Connor muttered.

"Connor, we have been over this," she said. "Five hours is not enough. If that is all you ever get, even now without the dreams, then you need to see a doctor."

"Yes, Naba, we _**have**_ been over this," Connor's voice was slightly testy as he kept typing. "My health insurance is through the ACA. It's the cheapest plan available, it hardly covers anything, and I can barely even pay the premiums. What makes you think I could afford to actually use it to see a doctor? What would the doctor even do?"

"Holy crap, stop fighting!" Arnold abruptly shouted, and Naba did a double-take.

Thankfully, there was no one around them in the union to be disturbed by his uncharacteristically angry outburst. Even so, Naba and Connor both hastily glanced around before looking at Arnold in confusion.

"We weren't fighting," Connor said. "We were just—"

"I don't care. Stop it, you guys; I'm trying to work."

This time, Naba's sigh was more pronounced. "We will work in silence, then."

She understood. It was the busiest time of the semester, and they were completely bogged down. Everyone on campus was, really. Truth be told, though, a tiny part of her struggled to be patient her fellow students' attitudes. Yes, she also had a lot on her plate and was often stressed. But whenever she started to feel incredibly overwhelmed, she remembered how lucky she was to be here and how proud she'd made her father and the rest of the villagers. She would visualize mailing him a copy of her final grades—proof she'd successfully completed her first semester of college—and that was all the motivation she needed to keep plowing forward.

Then again, her story wasn't exactly identical to that of most students around here. She decided to let it go for now and resumed work on her paper.

* * *

Kevin sat frozen in one of the library study rooms, gulping down an Ativan and willing himself not to panic. He had to get all these chapters down by Monday, but he needed more Adderall and Ira hadn't answered his text yet so maybe he should text him again except he didn't want to text him again because he really didn't want to see him at all but he didn't know where else to get the pills and what was he gonna do none of this made any sense and all his thoughts were jumbled together in his mind without any breaks order or clarity whatsoever—

"Stop," he said aloud, clutching his head in his hands. "Focus. Read."

He stared down hopelessly at his book, trying to make sense of the text on the page. Radicals. What the hell were radicals? This was pointless; he'd missed too many lectures and it was all too complex to understand from the book alone. Especially if the person reading it was crazy.

_You're not crazy_ , he told himself. _You just have really high goals. You want to get into one of the best med schools in the country. You want to be something incredible_.

Except he really didn't. Not anymore. Sure, the desire for all those things was still there, but his head hurt and his limbs felt sluggish and it was hard to breathe. Really, all he wanted right now was to sleep forever. Maybe he needed another Ativan.

He reached for the travel bottle and shook one out, then paused.

Maybe he needed _**all**_ the Ativan.

There were only two pills left in the bottle, but that didn't matter. He'd brought along the entire bag, almost as if he'd subconsciously been planning this.

_Drug yourself to death for all I care_ , Arnold's voice sounded again in his head. Would it really be so bad? His life was falling apart, and he just wanted to disappear. He had everything he needed—more than enough pills, plus that pocketknife he'd been carrying around since the cutting incident for some inexplicable reason…

He pictured himself continuing on the path before him, failing his chemistry class and doing subpar at best in the others. He imagined seeing the F on his transcript, his parents' disappointed faces, Ira's patronizing told-you-so smirk, the inevitable rejection letter from Johns Hopkins.

Oh, what the hell.

He stuck a handful of pills in his mouth before he could change his mind, swallowing them down with a gulp of Pepsi. Then another handful, and another, until several got caught in his throat and he almost gagged. After forcing those down, he retrieved the knife from his bag and flicked it open, then positioned it above his wrist and pressed down. The second the blade broke skin, he hissed in pain and jerked his hand back. He shook his head, braced himself, and tried again, this time ignoring the sharp tingling pain as he drug the blade along his wrist and down toward his forearm, deeper than he had last time. He stopped a couple inches below his wrist, letting the knife fall to the floor and watching his blood bubble up and drip freely from the cut.

Shouldn't he be experiencing some sort of regret right now? Funny, he didn't feel much of anything. Relief, maybe. He no longer had to worry about grades, parents, goals, or anything else. He could finally just go to sleep, without having to wake up only to face it all again.

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that before he felt an overwhelming exhaustion creep upon him. Head spinning and throat dry, he rested his head on the table and closed his eyes.

* * *

"The union is closing soon." Arnold had been staring numbly at a blank Word document for about an hour, but he still vaguely registered Naba's voice and her hand on his shoulder. "It is time to go."

"Okay," he mumbled, standing up and gathering his things. Naba and Connor were both already packed up, waiting patiently for him. They headed out the back exit once he was ready, and Naba immediately rushed ahead.

"I need to catch my bus," she said.

"You sure you don't want a ride home?" Connor asked.

"No thank you. It's nice out tonight; I want to walk to the bus stop," she said. "I will text you two when I get home. Bye!"

"See you tomorrow." Connor gave her a wave. "Be careful!"

He and Arnold then turned in the other direction, and Connor remarked, "You're quiet today."

Arnold tried to mask the unease he felt by saying, "So are you."

"True. But it's different when you're quiet. It's not like you."

"Yeah, well, I don't wanna talk about it."

"Fair enough," Connor replied, and they walked in silence. The thing was, though, Arnold _**did**_ want to talk about it, because he was sick dwelling on it by himself. He just wasn't sure how.

"It's just," he began, grasping for the right words. "Kevin and I got in a fight, and now he hates me and we'll never be friends again."

"I seriously doubt he actually hates you," Connor said wearily. "Or that your friendship is over forever."

Arnold shook his head. Maybe Connor was too tired to get it, or maybe no one on the outside could ever truly grasp it, but this time Arnold had screwed up beyond repair. He'd blown up at his friend—his stupid, unhinged, addicted best friend—and left him alone to make any number of unsafe mistakes. Kevin wouldn't take any of what he'd said to heart, right? God, he'd never felt so awful in his life.

"Just go talk to him when we get back," Connor suggested. "Or maybe in the morning, once you've both had some time to cool off. I really think…oh, dear."

Arnold looked up to see he'd stopped and was now staring ahead with concern. They'd rounded the corner of the building to see an ambulance and police truck pulled up in front of the library, lights flashing. Arnold felt his heart plummet. "Kevin," he whispered.

"What?" Connor gave him a quizzical look. "Come on, you don't know if that has to do with Kevin. Why would it? It could be anything."

Undeterred, Arnold stepped forward across the grass, ignoring Connor's calls behind him. Maybe he was wrong; maybe it really wasn't him. Maybe Kevin hadn't even gone to the library this evening and was completely fine. Connor was right; this could be anyone. _Please_ , he thought. _Please, Heavenly Father, don't let it be him_.

Then he saw two paramedics bring out a stretcher, and he just _**knew**_.

"KEVIN!"


	26. Hospital Coffee Tastes Like Plastic

_**Sophomore Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 26: Hospital Coffee Tastes Like Plastic**

"KEVIN!"

Arnold ran as fast as he could toward the ambulance. No, this could _**not**_ be happening.

"Kevin," he breathed out again, approaching the two emergency vehicles. Before he could get to the stretcher, he was stopped by one of the police officers.

"Sir, I'm gonna need you to step back," she said, attempting to gently guide Arnold in the opposite direction.

"That's my best friend!" Arnold shouted, craning his neck to see two EMTs loading Kevin's stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

"I'm sorry, but I still need you to step back."

"But I need to—" Arnold tried to push forward, but the officer was strong and her grip on his right arm was ironclad. "Is he gonna die? He can't die! I—"

"Arnold." Connor had finally caught up, and now had his hand on Arnold's other arm. All traces of his previous fatigue had vanished. "We need to go."

"No!" Arnold violently shook his head. "I can't just leave him—"

"If we want to help him, then we have to do what they say." Connor turned to the officer and asked, "Are they taking him to McKay-Dee, ma'am?" When she nodded, Connor looked back at Arnold and said, "Come on, that's not far. We can wait for him there."

Before Arnold could say anything else, Connor was pulling him away and asking, "Do you want to walk or drive?"

"Um, driving's faster, right?" Arnold asked. When Connor shrugged, he added, "Let's drive."

They hurried in the direction of Connor's car, and Arnold tried his best to match pace with his long-legged friend. Meanwhile, his mind kept repeating the same sentences over and over. _Kevin was hurt. Kevin could die. Kevin could already be dead_.

They'd just passed Browning Center when they heard the sirens blip twice, the ambulance driving away. That seemed to trigger something in Connor, and he glanced over at Arnold with a suspicious look in his eye.

"You knew it was him," he stated.

"Uh huh," Arnold replied weakly, trying to hold back tears.

"How did you know?" Connor pressed on. "What exactly were you two fighting about earlier?"

"It's—um, it's…" Even now, Arnold couldn't get the words out.

"Arnold," Connor said firmly as he stopped, whipped around to face him, and grabbed his shoulders. There was a fierce sense of urgency in his eyes that Arnold had never seen before. "Why is Kevin on the way to the hospital right now?" he demanded. "What do you know that you're not telling me?"

Upon hearing a hint of panic in his tone, Arnold finally broke down. "He's been taking Adderall," he confessed, eyes filling with tears. "And, um, some other stuff, too. He said he would quit, but then he didn't, and, well, he must've taken too many or had a reaction or something…" he drifted off, a lump forming in his throat.

Connor watched him closely, lips pursed in a thin line. After a moment of silence, he grabbed Arnold's arm and resumed walking, pulling the other behind him.

"How long has he been taking them?" Connor asked, eyes straight ahead on the sidewalk.

"Um, for a while. Almost all year, I think." Arnold sniffled. "He's been buying them from someone. I don't know who."

"How long have you known about this?"

"Not for long. I found them in his bag."

"You found them in his bag, huh?" There was a sharpness in his tone that put Arnold even more on edge than he already was. "And you—" Connor suddenly stopped did a double-take, as if remembering something he'd long ago forgotten.

"Oh my God," he said, his grip on Arnold's arm becoming almost painful. "You asked me about it. A few weeks ago; that whole _what happens to residents illegally taking pills_ thing. That was about him, wasn't it? Seriously? You couldn't just tell me about it right then and there?"

"No—well, I wanted to. But he would've been so mad—"

"Oh, right," Connor sneered, resuming their walk. "Wouldn't want to make him _**mad**_ , now would we?"

They'd reached the proper parking lot by now, and Arnold jerked his arm back while Connor scanned the rows in search of his car. "Look, I know it was kinda dumb," Arnold admitted. "But it's not like I—"

Connor barked out a harsh laugh and started toward the car. "Kind of dumb?" he repeated. "You enabled a drug addict, Arnold. And now he's being rushed to hospital in an ambulance. I think that's more than just kind of dumb, don't you?" He hit the unlock button on his key remote and pulled open the passenger door, facing Arnold with a fierce glare. "Get in," he ordered.

Ashamed, Arnold plunked into the seat. Once Connor had shut the door, he let the tears he'd been holding back flow freely. He'd never seen Connor angry before. Annoyed, irritated, disappointed, sure. But now that Arnold had seen his angry side, he hated it. Who knew Connor could be so cruel?

He had good reason, though. Arnold had sat by and done nothing while Kevin hurt himself. Encouraged it, even.

Connor opened up his own door and slid inside the car, and Arnold quickly turned away so he couldn't see him cry. He couldn't do anything to mask the small hiccup that escaped his mouth, however.

Connor jammed the key in the ignition and sighed. "Look, I didn't mean…" he began. Shaking his head and shifting gears, he finished with, "Let's just get to the hospital, okay?"

The dam had already been broken, however; as Connor pulled out toward the road, Arnold only sobbed harder. "It's all my fault," he said. "I didn't tell anyone, and I yelled at him today, and now he's probably dead."

"We don't know that he's dead," Connor replied, driving much faster than usual. His knuckles were white as he clenched the steering wheel.

"Yes he is, I know he is," Arnold wailed. "My best friend is dead." In that instant, one of the last sentences he'd furiously uttered to Kevin that afternoon—casually, in the heat of the moment—flashed through his mind. _Drug yourself to death for all I care_. Oh, God. No, no he couldn't… "I killed my best friend!"

Connor was silent as he tailed a car going five-under in a two-lane street, the solid yellow lines in the middle clearly indicating a no-passing zone. Rolling his eyes and then quickly glancing around to ensure no cops were present, he quickly merged left and sped past, not even batting an eye as the other driver honked angrily.

"You didn't kill him," Connor said once he was clear of the other car. "Even if he…um…well, we'll find out more when we get there."

The rest of the short ride to the hospital was quiet, save for Arnold's occasional sniffles. Once Connor hastily pulled into a spot (his back right wheel considerably over the line), they both got out as quickly as possible and rushed for the doors to the ER entrance.

"Is Kevin Price here?" Connor asked the nurse at the desk when they stepped inside.

"I'll check," the nurse replied, adjusting his glasses and typing something into his computer. After a moment, he said, "They just brought him in the back. If you aren't family then you'll need to have a seat in the waiting room."

"We're family," Arnold quickly lied. "Where do we—"

"No, we're not," Connor cut him off. "Come on, Arnold, let's sit down."

"But I need to—"

Connor was already starting toward a chair in the corner. "I'm sure his actual family'll be here any minute."

Arnold tried to swallow down the lump that was still in his throat and turned back to the nurse, heart pounding. "Is he still alive?" he asked, terrified to hear his response. "Can you just tell me that?" _Please say yes_ , he thought. _Please,_ **please** _say yes_.

"He is," he said. "But that's all I can say."

Arnold heaved a huge sigh of relief. It wasn't enough to alleviate his rapid pulse or the sick feeling in his gut, but at least now there was chance. "Thanks," he said, and then headed over to join Connor. He'd just sunk down into the uncomfortable plastic when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a text from Nabulungi.

_Made it home :) bus was late though._

He'd forgotten all about her. Numbly, he found himself typing back: _glad ur ok. at the hospital_

Naba was practically glued to her phone most of the time, so she usually replied back fairly quickly. This response, however, was fast even for her.

_:O Why!?_

_Kevins hurt_ , he texted back.

_Will he be ok?_ she asked.

If only Arnold knew. _idk. at the mckay er w/ connor_

Arnold watched the three little dots in the response bubble with dread. He wondered if, when she found out, her reaction to to Arnold's blunder would be as negative as Connor's. It should be. He hadn't screwed up this badly since that crazy pageant in Uganda. No, scratch that. This was so much worse. Being kicked out of the church had eventually turned out to be the best thing for everyone, but this? There was absolutely no way to put a positive spin on it.

After what seemed like an eternity, her text came in: _Be there soon. I'll get a ride_.

Sighing, he pocketed his phone and slumped back in his chair. _Oh, Kevin_ , he thought. This was torture. Sitting here, with nothing to go on, aside from the tiny glimmer of hope that came from knowing his friend was somehow still alive. What had even happened, exactly?

The sound of the automatic doors opening up snapped Arnold back to the present, and he looked up to see Mr. and Mrs. Price hurrying toward the front desk with their daughter Debbie in tow. That was odd; wasn't she away at BYU? She must have come home for the weekend, Arnold reasoned. Provo wasn't that far. Both she and Mr. Price has strained, worried looks on their faces, and there were tear streaks on Mrs. Price's cheeks. As they all headed through the double doors in the back, Arnold resumed staring dully at the old magazines on the coffee table.

Whatever happened, Arnold prayed it was an accident. If Kevin had deliberately tried to kill himself after what Arnold had said…well, he had no idea what he would do.

Groaning, he rested his head against Connor's shoulder.

"It'll be okay," Connor said, albeit with only a fraction of the usual reassurance he typically possessed. "He's alive, and he's being treated. They can fix this."

"Am I a bad person?" Arnold asked quietly.

"No," Connor replied quickly. "No, of course not. You made a huge mistake, but that doesn't make you a bad person at all."

They waited in silence for several more minutes. Then, the doors opened again and Naba hurried inside, Brynn only a few steps behind her. Arnold jumped up and rushed into his girlfriend's arms.

"Naba," he cried. He'd never been so grateful to see her in his life.

She hugged him back for a few seconds before pulling away, concern in her eyes. "What is going on?" she said. "Will Kevin be okay?"

Arnold opened his mouth to respond, but the words got caught in his throat. Speechless, he stepped back and slumped into his chair, looking at Connor helplessly.

"He had to be brought here by ambulance from the library," Connor said. "Arnold says he's been buying prescription pills from somewhere, so we're guessing it had something to do with that. His family's back there with him now."

Naba blinked in surprise. "He's been taking drugs?" she asked in disbelief. Then she turned to Arnold and said, "And you knew?"

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Arnold begged, his voice weak.

Naba looked at him apprehensively for a few seconds, before swallowing and nodding. Brynn, meanwhile, was biting her lip and shifting her weight from one foot to the other, an unreadable expression on her face. When Naba took a seat next to Connor, Brynn spoke up.

"I'm gonna go look for some coffee," she said. Then she turned to Connor and asked, "You want to come with?"

Connor shook his head. "No thanks, I don't drink coffee."

"Well, come anyway."

Connor wrinkled his brow at that, but then shrugged and stood up. "Okay."

They started down one of the side hallways. Normally Arnold would have found that whole interaction a bit odd, but he was too worried to care right now.

Naba squeezed his hand. "He will be fine," she said. "Kevin is very strong. He will recover."

Arnold hoped to high heaven she was right, but if this semester had taught him anything, it was that Kevin wasn't as strong as he'd thought.

* * *

Connor stepped away from little coffee machine in the cafeteria where Brynn was filling a styrofoam cup, running his hands through his hair and trying to process what he'd just heard.

"So, let's make sure I've got this straight," he said slowly, turning back to watch her at the counter. "You're telling me Kevin's been buying Adderall from Ira. And you know this because last year, when you and Ira were doing your…" He made a motion with his hand in the air, grasping for the right word. "Well, your _**thing**_ , uh…anyhow, back then he told you he sold drugs. Right?"

Brynn snapped the lid onto her steaming cup of cheap black coffee, her back to him. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

"And then you told Kevin?"

"That's right."

Connor let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "And you never—not once, this entire year, did you think that _**might**_ be something I should know?"

Brynn sighed and turned around to face him. "I didn't want to interfere—"

"Oh, but you could totally tell Kevin, couldn't you?"

"Because he asked!"

Connor gave her a skeptical look. "Kevin asked if Ira sold prescription pills?"

"No, obviously nothing that specific," Brynn said, leaning against the counter with her cup in hand. "Kevin's never liked Ira, so he asked if I had any dirt on him. So I told him. And yeah, there were times I considered telling you, too. But really, for all I knew you were already aware—"

"Are you serious? You honestly think we'd still be together if I knew?"

"Well, how the hell was I supposed to know what's been going through your head?" Brynn took a sip of her coffee and cringed. "Ugh, this tastes like plastic."

She looked down at the cup in disgust for a few seconds before continuing. "Besides, I figured Kevin would be more than happy to get the word out. I even asked him about it at Arnold's Christmas party, after nothing happened. And he told me it wasn't an issue anymore, so I…" Brynn sighed again, running a hand through her hair. "Honestly, I never would've guessed that Kevin fucking Price of all people would keep something like that a secret because he was buying from him. I mean, Ira told me that just once over a year ago, so I—I guess I just figured he didn't do it, anymore, you know?"

"Well, clearly that was an terrible assumption," Connor retorted. He began pacing the floor, seething. "I can't believe you'd keep quiet about something like this. First you, and now Arnold and—" He faced her once more and threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "Honestly, am I the only one around here capable of making a smart decision anymore? How could you possibly—"

"You don't think I'm asking myself the same question?" Brynn cut him off, eyes narrowed. "You don't think I regret this? That I don't feel like shit about the whole thing? Just because I hate Kevin's guts doesn't mean I want to see him die. And I don't exactly know what's up with Arnold, but I'm sure he feels bad about whatever he did, too."

She stepped forward and settled down at one of the tables. "So get off your fucking high horse," she went on. "Stop acting like you've never fucked anything up before."

Connor stood silently, his back to her as he thought about how quickly his world had flipped upside down. He was still so tired, and all he'd wanted was to get some sleep tonight, but now he was in the hospital while one of his closest friends was being treated for a drug overdose made possible by Connor's own boyfriend. It was too much.

His mind scanned back through all the little signs he should have picked up on—Kevin's mood swings and weight loss, Ira's text exchanges with him for which he always happened to have a perfectly crafted excuse, his seemingly endless supply of disposable income, the time he stopped by that freshman's room to bring her something during midterms and she looked so damn grateful…

He lowered himself down into the seat next to Brynn and massaged his temples. "No, you're right. I've screwed up, too," he admitted, and then he let out a little humorless chuckle. "You want to know what the worst part is? That party you just mentioned, when Naba's dad visited? He actually told me to watch out for Ira. He picked up on something bad about him, and I…well, I didn't see it. I didn't want to. I thought about looking into it more, maybe asking you or someone else who had known him longer. But I didn't want it to be true, so in the end, I just sort of forgot about it." He shook his head. "God, what a mess."

Brynn was quiet, picking up her purse and fishing through it. Producing a small silver flask, she uncapped it and poured some of the clear contents into her coffee, then handed it over to Connor. "Bottoms up," she said.

Connor arched his eyebrows, but took the flask without comment and raised it to his lips. The bitter alcohol scorched his throat, though not unpleasantly so.

"So what're we gonna do about Ira?" Brynn asked as he returned the flask. "Want me to take care of it?"

Connor shook his head and stood up. "I can handle it. Come on, we should head back."

"You go ahead," Brynn replied. "I've gotta pee." Connor nodded, and they both headed in opposite directions.

He returned to the waiting room and settled back into his seat. After a few seconds of silence between himself, Arnold, and Naba, the double doors to the back swung open and Kevin's sister Debbie stepped through. She dropped down into the closest empty seat and buried her face in her hands.

Connor watched her across the open middle space, not quite sure what to do with himself. Though he'd only seen her a couple times since their return from Uganda, the truth was Deborah Price actually intimidated him a bit. Devout and beautiful with a mind as quick as a whip, she was essentially the blonde, female version of pre-mission Kevin. This basically meant that all those good qualities came with an overwhelming arrogance and a harsh, judgmental attitude, which had only increased since her brother's fall from the church's good grace. That confidence she usually possessed was absent in the moment, however, as she sat there looking absolutely distraught.

After one heavy, awkward minute, Naba shifted into the seat next to hers. "How is he?" she asked gently, placing a hand on Debbie's shoulder.

Debbie slowly lowered her hands and looked over into Naba's concerned eyes. "They found a bunch of Ativan in his system," she said. "He didn't have to have his stomach pumped, but they made him drink charcoal and gave him some sort of antidote. I don't really know all the details."

"So it was an accident, right?" Arnold immediately piped up, leaning forward anxiously. "He just took too much because he was having a panic attack or something. He didn't mean to hurt himself, did he?"

Her eyes shifted over to him, and Connor could see Arnold wilt under her sharp gaze. "That wasn't the only problem," she snapped. "He also slit his wrist. He had to get stitches and a blood transfusion, and now he's on suicide watch. I don't think _**that**_ was an accident."

A tense silence fell over the room as they processed this awful new information. Arnold let out a tiny, sad sort of squeak and stood up, rushing for the outside doors with a hand over his mouth. Naba hurried after him, leaving Connor and Deb alone in the waiting room. Connor leaned back, letting his head hit the wall with a thunk. So that was it, then. Kevin had tried to kill himself in the library. The person he cared about more than anything else in the whole world was suicidal, and he hadn't even noticed.

"This is all your fault." He looked over in alarm at the sound of Debbie's voice and saw her giving him an accusatory glare. "He was _**fine**_ before his mission and all that stupid Book of Arnold business. That's where it all started, isn't it? Everyone knew his companion was an idiot, but you were the district leader. You were supposed to put a stop to it."

Connor sat there in shock, completely speechless. How could he possibly respond to something like that? He tried to push past everything he was feeling at the moment to think back to their time in Uganda. Kevin had been one of the first people to fully embrace their excommunication, and he seemed so much happier as a result. So whatever he was going through now couldn't possibly have anything to do with leaving the church, could it? But how was Connor supposed to tell Debbie that? He didn't know for certain it was true, and even if it was, the fact remained that Kevin probably never would've even met Ira and considered taking those pills if it weren't for Connor. So how was Connor supposed to look her in the eye—this girl who had almost lost her older brother forever—and defend his innocence in all this?

So he didn't say anything. He just stared back at her, paralyzed, hoping she could see the apology in his eyes. After a moment of this, Debbie sighed and stood back up, then headed back through those double doors without a word.

Connor didn't even know how long he sat there alone. He vaguely registered Brynn returning, as well as Naba coaxing Arnold back to his seat some time later. Nobody was saying anything, though, and that made it all too easy to get lost in a daze. Eventually, he was jarred back to reality by Arnold's voice.

"When do you think they'll let us go back there?"

"I'm not sure," Connor replied. He didn't even know what time it was. He held up his hand to check his watch, then froze. His watch. That sleek, stainless steel Fossil watch he loved so much, the one Ira had given him for Christmas. He'd wondered at the time how Ira was able to afford it. Well, now he knew exactly where he'd gotten the money.

He swallowed down the bile rising up in his throat and said, "We should probably go home."

"What?" Naba asked. "Why?"

"Because we're all tired. We can come back tomorrow."

"No!" Arnold said stubbornly. "We're not going home just because we're tired. My best friend just tried to kill himself, Connor! I'm not—"

"You're not _**what**_ , Arnold?" Connor challenged. "What exactly do you plan on doing about it right now? The doctors are treating him, and he has his family. Do you even think he really wants us all crowding around him, too?"

He stifled a yawn and added, "Honestly, it's late. He might not even be awake right now. Why don't we just go home for the night, and then we can come back tomorrow when he's more stable and bring, I don't know, flowers or something."

"He's got a point," Brynn said, when Naba and Arnold still looked doubtful. "They probably won't even let anyone who isn't family back there until visiting hours."

Naba gave in at that, nodding and standing up. Connor and Brynn joined her, and she turned back to Arnold, who was still stubbornly seated.

"It will be okay, Arnold," she reassured him. "You will see him soon enough."

After another few seconds of defiance, Arnold's shoulders finally slumped, and he stood up sadly.

"Okay," he said in a quiet, defeated voice, so unlike his usual boisterous shout.

They all walked outside in somber silence.


	27. Coroners Don't Paint Their Faces

_**Sophomore Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 27: Coroners Don't Paint Their Faces**

_Kevin Price was dead. Arnold stared down in horror at the corpse of his best friend, cold and ghastly pale in the open casket. They'd dressed him in some fancy suit Arnold had never seen before, ironed and pressed to perfection, with his hair neatly combed back out his eyes. Arnold had always heard that bodies at funerals usually looked peaceful, almost as if they were sleeping. That was total crap. He'd seen Kevin asleep before, and never once had he looked so…so empty, for lack of a better word._

_The service had already ended, and everyone was preparing to head to the cemetery. But Arnold couldn't move. He had to stay here in front of the casket, because this was the last time he'd ever see his friend and he couldn't just let it end. He leaned forward and took Kevin's limp hand in his own._

" _Oh, Kevin," he whimpered, squeezing his fingers. He felt so brittle in death. "I'm so sorry."_

_The coroner was stepping forward now. He was a silent, elderly man with white paint coating every inch of his face, and he made Arnold's skin crawl. "Not yet!" Arnold said quickly as the man's gloved hand hovered by the edge of the lid. "I'm not finished yet!"_

_If Arnold stood still, right here at the edge of the casket with Kevin's hand in his, they couldn't close it. So he did so, even as the other guests filed out, as the lights were shut off, the candles extinguished. The coroner continued to stand there, staring at him with his grey, unfeeling eyes—eyes that nearly blended into the thick white paint._

" _I'm not leaving," Arnold said. He wasn't ready yet, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be. So he'd stay here forever if he had to._

_Except he never anticipated the four ghostly, skeletal hands that appeared out of nowhere, surrounded in a black cloud of smoke. Two of them grasped his hands, prying his right one out of Kevin's and the other off the edge of the casket. The other two gripped his shoulders with an inhuman strength._

" _No, no, no!" he cried. He refused to look behind him—partly because he couldn't tear his eyes away from Kevin, and also because he didn't want to know who those hands belonged to._

_But it was too late. As Arnold was forced back, the coroner slammed the lid shut._

_The scene abruptly changed. Now Arnold was standing at the edge of a graveyard, and he could see Kevin's funeral party clear across the way in the other corner. They were lowering his casket into the ground. Arnold had to get there before they buried him; if he didn't, then he would never again have the chance to say goodbye. He tried to take a step forward, but the path was wet and sticky before him, mud holding his feet down like glue. Desperate, he searched wildly around for alternatives. The grass surrounding the various graves looked dry—but even if he could pry his feet up, he wouldn't be able to cut through them. There were spirits there; he could see them. Phantom wisps of air, staring him down. They'd deemed him unworthy of their newest comrade, and they certainly wouldn't let him pass without a fight._

_Helplessly, he looked back over at the funeral party. The casket had been lowered entirely into the grave, and that same creepy, painted coroner was now dropping a shovelful of earth down into the hole. Arnold tried to call out, scream at him to stop, but his mouth suddenly felt dry, a dusty, foreign substance in his throat. He lifted his hand to his mouth and let out a cough. Once his throat was clear, he pulled his hand back and was shocked to see it covered in dirt, and he just knew it was the same dirt that—_

Arnold cried out and bolted upright in his bed, wide awake and drenched in sweat. On the other side of the room, he heard Quentin groggily murmur something and roll over, throwing his pillow over his head.

What time was it? Still trembling from his dream, Arnold fished around on the floor by his bed in search of his phone. Once he located it, he squinted at the screen. 4:18 AM, it read. He dropped it onto the mattress beside him and slowly lowered himself back down.

It was okay. Kevin wasn't dead. Arnold wasn't being attacked by spirits. Kevin wasn't dead. Coroners didn't paint their faces. _**Kevin wasn't dead**_.

He squeezed his eyes shut and kept repeating this to himself until he finally settled into another restless sleep.

* * *

Kevin woke to the gentle feeling of fingers running through his hair. It felt nice, and his eyelids only fluttered a couple times before sliding shut once more. Before he could doze off again, however, his mother spoke.

"Kevin, sweetie," she said in a hushed voice. "How are you feeling?"

He groaned quietly and refused to re-open his eyes. It was too bright, his pillow was too thin, and the mattress beneath him was too hard. "Where'm I?" he mumbled, delirious.

He heard her let out a soft sigh. "You're in the hospital, remember?"

He finally cracked his eyes open at that, taking in her heartbroken expression and the dark circles under her eyes as she sat in the chair next to him and stroked his head. Of course. How could he forget?

"Your father and Deb went home to take care of Scott and Katie," Mrs. Price went on. "It's late. Or early, I suppose. Very early. The nurse just stepped out; she's been in every fifteen minutes." Her fingers paused for just a moment before she added, "You haven't said anything about what happened."

"I don't want to." Kevin turned his head away and closed his eyes. "I just want to go home."

"I know, honey. But the doctors need to make sure you're safe first. They said they're going to transfer you to the behavioral health unit in a few hours."

He let out a short grumble at that and brought his hands up to his face, taking note of the large scratchy bandage on his left wrist. "I don't want to go to the psych ward," he said. "I want to go home, Mom. Why can't I just go home?"

"It's for the best," she assured him. "You…you may be here for a while. We should probably talk to your professors and supervisors as soon as—"

"I don't care about that," Kevin said flatly, rolling over onto his side away from her—a difficult task, considering the IV and various wires attached to him.

"What do you mean, honey?" She slowly pulled her hand back. "If they don't hear anything you, then you may not be able to make up your finals—"

"I don't care. I don't care if I fail all my classes or get fired. I just…I _**don't care**_ , okay?"

A tense silence followed, and he heard Mrs. Price's breathing hitch. She let out a small sniffle and finally said, "Since when do you not care, Kevin? What's going on? What _**do**_ you want?"

Kevin buried his head down into the meager pillow. "I told you, I want to go home," he said, voice muffled by the fabric. "I want to go home, sleep in my own bed, and never wake up."

"So…" Mrs. Price's voice was frail and choked as she said, "So you really meant it."

"Yeah, Mom," he sighed dully. "I meant it."

"Why?" she cried. "Why are you doing this? What happened, Kevin? You promised—you said you wouldn't take any drugs. You've always acted like everything was fine! Is this because we wouldn't let you go to Johns Hopkins? Would you feel better if you transferred? What about a vacation? Do you want us to take you to Orlando?" She resumed running her fingers through his hair and rested her other hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly as if he would vanish at any moment. "I don't understand, sweetie—what can we possibly do to help you?"

_Nothing. You're too late_. "I…I don't know," Kevin said, a wave a fatigue coursing through him. He pulled the sheet up to his chest and said, "Can I go back to sleep now?"

The last thing he registered he drifted off was her resting her forehead on his shoulder, tears leaking through the fabric of his hospital gown.

* * *

_Later That Morning_

"I really shouldn't be doing this, you know," Connor said as he unlocked and opened the door to Kevin's room.

"I won't tell anyone," Arnold quickly assured him, stepping through the doorway. Connor almost made a smart comment about him being _**very**_ good at keeping secrets lately, but he held his tongue and watched Arnold reach down and retrieve a shoebox from under the bed. Arnold opened it up and pulled out a stuffed otter.

"Here we go," he said. "I wanna bring it when I visit."

Connor nodded and surveyed the unmade bed, cluttered desk, and overflowing laundry hamper. The room didn't even look like it belonged to Kevin anymore. How had any of them let it get this bad?

Once Arnold stepped back out, Connor locked the door up behind them, and the two of them began the trek back downstairs toward the front desk.

"Have you heard anything else?" Arnold asked.

"About Kevin? No. I've…had some other things going on," Connor decided it would be better to keep it vague for now.

"Naba said they moved him over to the psych ward. He's allowed visitors this afternoon. Are you coming?"

"I'll try to." Connor stepped behind the desk and returned the master key ring to its proper location. The girl working the counter kept her eyes glued to the computer, clearly pretending not to notice the whole thing.

Arnold nodded, forehead creased in concern. Once Connor had stepped back through to the other side and they were out of earshot, Arnold lowered his voice and asked him, "Is Kevin gonna be fired from his RA job?"

Connor shook his head. "This close to the end of the semester? I really doubt it. Especially since he's not returning next year. Maybe if it happened earlier and they had time to replace him, but…no, they'll probably just refer him to counseling and distribute his workload amongst the rest of us."

Arnold nodded. Then he opened his mouth as if to say something else, before a familiar voice cut him off.

"Hey, Connor. Arnold." Ira had just stepped into the lobby and now wrapped his arms around Connor, hugging him from behind.

"Hi," Arnold murmured. He fumbled with the otter for a bit, before clutching it to his chest and wandering away, almost as if in a daze.

"I heard about Kevin," Ira said, placing a kiss on Connor's temple. "How awful."

"Mm hmm," Connor said, pulling away and heading toward the hallway.

Ira kept pace with him. "Several people are talking about the kid who tried to off himself in the library," he said. "Apparently a student worker found him in one of the study rooms around closing time, covered in blood. No one really knows it was Kevin, though. I only learned that from Naba." As he followed Connor into the empty RA work room, he asked, "How's he holding up?"

Connor absentmindedly straightened out some papers on the desk. "He'll be fine. Eventually."

"Good to hear." Ira took a seat backwards in one of the chairs, arms propped up against the backrest. After a moment of silence, he asked, "You okay?"

Connor pursed his lips. Before he could dwell too much on it, he found himself shutting the door and turning to face his boyfriend. "I'm fine," he said. "And yes, it is good to hear. Wouldn't want one of your customers dying on you, now would we?"

Ira's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but then he quickly narrowed them and gave Connor a long, scrutinizing look. "What exactly are you trying to say, Connor?" he asked.

Connor leaned back against the wall, matching Ira's challenging stare with one of his own. "You text him a lot. You're always coming and going around here, meeting with some stranger or another. You practically have money coming out your ass. Damn it, I know it was you, Ira. You've been selling those pills to Kevin this entire time!"

Ira remained stock still, watching him carefully with those penetrating green eyes. Finally, he let out a snort and stood up.

"And what if have?" he said calmly. "You gonna go all self-righteous on me? You didn't seem too concerned when I was spending that money on you. Buying you flowers, margaritas, that Fossil watch." His eyes flickered down to Connor's bare wrist, and his lips twisted upward in a derisive smirk. "What, did you take it off in some silent display of moral outrage?"

"Shut up," Connor snapped. "How could you do that to him? He had to go to the freaking emergency room, Ira. What were—"

"That's his problem," Ira replied. "I never told him to take that many. He's an adult; he knew what he was getting into. He asked for the pills, and I sold them. That's where my responsibility ended. I've never made anyone do anything they didn't want to, Connor."

Connor shook his head. "That's not the way it works. You don't get to go around giving people illegal drugs and call yourself blameless in all this." He finally had to avert his eyes. He'd had some time to process the fact that his boyfriend—someone he cared about, who he'd accepted so deeply into his life—was a drug dealer, but hearing it directly from him, in such a casual way, was another matter.

He forced himself to look back at Ira. "I just don't—how could you—you lied to me!" he said, anger at this betrayal rendering him far less coherent than he would've preferred. "You told me you worked at a bank."

"I do work at a bank. I have multiple jobs, just like you."

"What you're doing isn't a _**job**_ , Ira. It's…ugh, I don't even know." He scowled in disgust and went on, "And you know damn well what I meant. You told me you love me, Ira, and now I find out you've been deliberately deceiving me this whole time—"

"Hold up," Ira cut in. "When did I ever say I love you?"

Connor faltered at that, tentatively examining Ira's features. Connor had never seen such coldness in his eyes before. He'd known his boyfriend could be many things, but this heartlessness was definitely new. "I…um, when you brought me those flowers for ten months," he explained. "You told me no one had ever made you feel like this before."

"Oh, that," Ira said. "That's true, actually. No one _**has**_ made me feel like this before. Never once, in my entire life have I met anyone else who made me feel so…" he paused, apparently wracking his brain for the right word. "Bored," he finished.

Connor blinked at him, struggling to fully comprehend what he'd just heard. "Bored?" he repeated weakly.

"That's right. I wasn't planning on saying anything, but hey, since you brought it up. You know what my initial impression was when I met you? The first thing I thought when I looked into your eyes?" Ira let out a short chuckle and leaned back against the windowsill, arms crossed. "I said to myself, that's the dullest person I've ever seen. I thought I must be mistaken; there had to be something more to you because surely no one could actually be that bland. So I went after you. I wanted to know everything about you, just to find that one little thing that could set you apart."

He paused, then smiled and shook his head. "As it turns out, I was looking for something that isn't there. You're just as uninteresting as I'd originally thought."

"Am I?" Connor retorted flatly. "If that's how you feel, then why exactly have you stayed with me so long?"

"Honestly, I didn't plan on keeping this up for as long as I have. It got old pretty quickly. I mean, you've just been so pathetic—still so obviously infatuated with your little mission crush, giving in to anyone who expresses even the slightest interest in you because he's unavailable. Like I said, pathetic. There's really no other word for it. But then Kevin came to me, and that's when it started to get interesting again. Being with you was a bore, but doing it while simultaneously getting the object of your affection to practically eat out of the palm of my hand? Now that…well, that was actually kind of fun."

Connor swallowed and tried to keep his voice from quivering as he spoke. "So you've hated me this entire time, and deliberately led me to—"

"Whoa, whoa, I don't _**hate**_ you," Ira cut in, holding up his hands. "Just because I don't care about you doesn't mean I hate you. How could I possibly hate you—hell, how could _**anyone**_ hate you? You're like…how should I put this? You're basically the bran muffin of people, Connor. You're safe, supportive, good for them. But you're so damn ordinary, so lacking in verve, that it's impossible for anyone to develop an opinion of you one way or the other. You're a nice guy, but that's it. There's no spark to you; you're just…nice."

Ira's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, rejected the call, and then continued on with his tirade. "And you know what's really crazy about the whole thing?" he said. "You don't even realize how dull you are. I mean, just look at you. Look at your goals. Do you honestly think you can stand up on a Broadway stage and convince a thousand-plus people to fall in love with you? Get a grip. Your own parents don't even love you."

Connor couldn't stop himself from wincing at that. Ira let out a short bark of a laugh and kicked back off the wall, taking a few steps toward him. "You want me to tell you about your future, Connor McKinley?" he asked. "I can see it plain as day. You'll give up on that big dream of becoming a New York actor soon enough, settle down somewhere as a receptionist or something, become the spitting image of the Pam Beesly character from _The Office_. Maybe adopt a cat or two. And then you'll spend your days longing for your very own Jim Halpert to come sweep you off your feet and whisk you away from your sad little life. Only unlike Pam, there isn't anyone out there who'd be drawn to you. Because see, the thing about Pam? She actually had some depth, and that's one thing you'll never have." With a little shrug, he added, "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart."

Connor stood there, staring down at the floor by Ira's feet, trying not to show just how badly his comments stung. When Ira's phone buzzed again, he simply said, "Answer your damn phone."

Ira rolled his eyes and hit the green button. "What'cha need, Mom?" he asked once he brought it up to his ear.

Mrs. Gotfrey's panicked voice was audible from across the room. "Ira," she shrieked. "You tell me right now why the police are here! And oh my gosh, _**why did they find drugs in your room**_?"

In a split second, all of the confidence and swagger in Ira's features was immediately replaced with complete shock. Every muscle in his body tensed, and his eyes darted around the room frantically. When they landed on Connor, they filled with comprehension.

Ignoring his mother shouting his name on the phone, he stared at Connor and slowly shook his head. "No," he said in disbelief.

Connor just gave him a humorless half-smile and said, "Guess that's just what we bran muffins do."

Ira let out a sound that could only be describes as a mix between a snarl and a snort, then tossed the phone down with Mrs. Gotfrey still screaming on the line and darted out the door.

He didn't get very far. When Connor stepped out and followed after him into the lobby, he found that Ira had ground to a halt, spotting two police officers quickly approaching. With nowhere else to go, he then threw his head back and started laughing hysterically.

"Oh my God, Connor," he said. "How did I not see this coming? Oh, this is _**just**_ like you. How completely, utterly predictable." Still cackling like a maniac, he lifted his hands up and told the officers, "Okay, boys, do your thing."

Connor didn't stick around as one handcuffed him and began reciting his rights. He turned around, stepped back through the hallway door, and made his way to his room with a straight face. Once inside, he shut the door and leaned back against it, letting himself slide down to the floor. It was only then, when he was safely shut away from the rest of the world, that he let the tears fall.

* * *

_That Afternoon_

By the time Arnold made it past the proper security and a nurse was leading him down the hall to see Kevin, he was feeling quite indignant. This shouldn't have been necessary. Kevin wasn't a threat; he shouldn't have to jump through all these hoops just to see his friend.

Then, when he stepped inside Kevin's room (technically it was a shared room, but the other half was vacant) and saw him lying on his side in bed with the dullest, most hopeless expression Arnold had ever seen, he remembered that Kevin was in fact a threat to himself. Another wave of sadness hit him full force, and he tried not to stare at the bandages covering Kevin's wrist.

The nurse said he'd be waiting right outside; Arnold nodded and pulled one of the plastic chairs up closer to the bed. "Hi buddy," he told Kevin as he took a seat, trying to keep his voice chipper. "You feeling better?"

Kevin was silent. Arnold watched his eyes focus on the otter in Arnold's hands, though the look on his face didn't change.

"Oh, um, right. I brought you Oliver," Arnold said, setting it down carefully by Kevin's side. "I know you like to have him when you're sad."

Kevin still didn't say anything, although after a moment he picked up the otter and hugged it close to his chest. Well, at least his friend wasn't completely catatonic.

"So, um, were you really buying the pills from Ira?" Arnold asked. "Apparently Connor found out and called the cops. He might be in jail now; I'm not sure—Ira, I mean. Not Connor. Connor's definitely not in jail. But yeah, I don't think they're together anymore. Connor's pretty upset about the whole thing, but he won't really say much. Naba's with him now. Although I know they're both gonna visit you really soon!" He gave Kevin a hopeful smile.

Kevin hadn't responded to any of this rambling, so Arnold sighed and broke down. "I thought you were dead, Kev," he said, voice cracking. "I thought I was gonna have to go to your funeral. I had a dream I went to your funeral, and it was the worst thing…I thought I had lost you, buddy."

An eerie silence filled the room after that. Then, at last, Kevin spoke. His voice was quiet, emotionless, and hoarse, as if it took a great deal of effort to get each word out. "Why would you go to my funeral? You said you didn't care if I died."

Arnold felt like he'd just been punched in the gut. "I didn't mean it," he said quickly. "I was mad, and I never should've said that. I'm so, so sorry, Kevin. You're my best friend in the whole wide world."

When Kevin didn't answer, he plowed on. "I love you, Kev. Everyone loves you. Look at all the stuff you got!" He turned to the small bunch of cards displayed on Kevin's nightstand and faltered. "Um, I know you're supposed to have flowers, too," he explained. "Did you see them? A bunch of us went in on them together. Connor, Naba, me, Poptarts, Jami, even Brynn chipped in! Guess they wouldn't let you have them in here 'cause of the vase. They're probably in the back, or maybe your parents have them at home. But look, here's the bear that came with 'em!" He held up the small teddy bear and said, "That's cool, isn't it?"

He then picked up the card they'd selected—well, the card Naba and Jami had selected and they'd all signed— and held it out. "And this is the card we got you," he said. "Did you read it? Did you read any of these, or did your mom open 'em all up for you?"

Kevin didn't reply, but Arnold was pretty sure he already knew the answer. So he began rifling through them, determined to have some sort of positive impact on his friend. "Here's one from your Grandma Price," he said. "And there's a few more from extended family people—look, this one from your Aunt Mary-Lynn and Uncle Jeff has a little doggie on it! How cute. Then there's one from the dorm staff people, and one from your coworkers at Starbucks." He picked up the smallest one and said, "This one's from one of your professors. The chemistry guy, I think."

To Arnold's relief, Kevin actually lifted his head a bit. "What?" he asked, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"Yeah!" He replied as he examined it. "It's a real boring card. It just says: _Keeping you in my thoughts_. And then he wrote: _Dear Kevin, I'll hold your grade until you return to campus to complete your remaining assignments and the final. Get well soon. -Dr. Brenner._ " He looked up and said, "Well, that's nice of him. Good news, huh?"

Kevin slowly shifted his otter into one arm and reached over to take the card. Once he'd read it himself, he dropped his head back onto the pillow and let it fall to the floor.

"He's gonna be holding it forever. I'm not going back."

"Kevin, you've gotta go back. What about becoming a doctor?"

"I don't care about that. Not anymore."

"Come on, buddy, don't do this—"

"I already did it, Arnold." Arnold cringed at the bitter edge that had emerged in Kevin's voice. "I just fucked up and didn't get the job done."

Arnold felt his eyes getting hot and misty. "No. No, Kevin, please don't talk like that. You still have a ton of stuff to live for; there's so much to look forward to—"

"Oh my, God, stop!" Kevin wailed, finally fed up. "I don't care if I have anything to live for, Arnold. Just stop, okay?" He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, I'm _**sick**_ of people telling me how much I have to live for. "

"You can't just give up," Arnold persisted. "And look, if you're feeling this way because of the pill addiction, the doctors can totally help you. You can get through this, I know you can."

Kevin shook his head and slowly shifted over to his other side, away from Arnold. "It's too hard," he said. His voice had gone flat again. "And I'm too tired. Everything is just…shit, it's so, so hard, and I can't do it without the pills. Hell, I couldn't even do it with them."

"Kevin—"

"Please leave."

Arnold stood silently for a few seconds, wanting to protest. But Kevin had nestled his head into the pillow and shut his eyes, making it clear that all he planned to do was sleep right now. And maybe that was exactly what he needed right now to clear his head.

"Okay." Arnold agreed, standing up. "I'll be back real soon, okay?" He paused for just a moment, wondering how Kevin would react to a hug right now, before ultimately just patting his shoulder and whispering, "I love you, bestie."

Kevin gave no response. With a heavy sigh, Arnold stepped back into the hallway and allowed himself to be escorted out of the unit.

* * *


	28. Only Heathens Go To SLU

_**Spring Semester, Sophomore Year** _

**Chapter 28: Only Heathens Go To SLU**

"Kevin, sweetie." Kevin had been laying in bed on his side about to doze off when he heard his mother's voice. He cracked his eyes open and silently looked up at her.

"Your father's here," she said.

Kevin saw Mr. Price standing by her, and his eyes shifted. He hadn't seen his dad at all since that first night in the ER. Even so, Kevin knew his actions had disappointed him more than he'd ever thought possible.

Mrs. Price gave her husband a little pat on the shoulder to urge him forward, and he stepped closer to Kevin's bed. The two locked eyes for a split second, neither one sure what to say, before Kevin quickly glanced away. After a moment, Mr. Price gestured down to the otter in Kevin's hands and said, "You still have that silly thing?"

"Gerald," he heard his mother quietly admonish. In response, his father whispered, "It's a child's toy, Beverly. He's an adult."

Kevin merely hugged the otter closer to his chest. Mr. Price sighed and settled into one of the chairs by his bed. "Kevin," he began wearily, shaking his head. "This—this thing you've done, well…this is why we told you to stay with the church. What have you gotten yourself into, son?"

Kevin tucked his head a little further into the pillow.

"Kevin," Mr. Price persisted. "Kevin, answer me." When Kevin remained quiet, he said, "At least look at me."

But Kevin couldn't look at him, not now that he had failed him yet again. It had been different when he'd been kicked out of the church. Though his parents had been completely devastated, Kevin was so certain he could prove it was for the better, that he could still become something incredible and make them proud. But that was all gone now. Now he'd hurt them far worse, and he was too exhausted to do anything about it.

When he got no response, Mr. Price shook his head once more. "I'm bringing Bishop Gunderson in to see you," he said. "We'll fix this and get you back on track."

That was when Kevin finally felt the need to reply. "No," he quietly croaked out. "I don't want to see him."

"Kevin, honey," his mom tentatively began, perching in the seat next to her husband and placing a hand on Kevin's shoulder.

"I don't want to," Kevin insisted. "You can't save me, okay?" He could feel her hand tense.

"Don't be ridiculous," Mr. Price said with a tight voice. "He's coming here whether you like it or not. It's for your own good."

"They won't let him in if I tell them not to," Kevin answered. He knew neither of his parents would be able to counter that; it was true, after all.

A heavy silence fell over the room for a minute, before Mr. Price let out a frustrated groan.

"What exactly do you expect us to do for you?" he cried. When he threw his hands up in exasperation, Kevin flinched hard enough that his mother jerked her hand back. He'd thought, for one short moment, that his father was going to hit him. He didn't know why he'd thought that—he'd never hit him before—but even so, it had still been the first thing to cross his mind.

Mr. Price had clearly noticed the reaction, because when Kevin warily looked back up at him, he'd slumped down in his seat, defeated. "What's happened to you, son?" His eyes were misty. "I don't even recognize you anymore."

Mrs. Price gripped her husband's arm and hissed, "Don't." But it was too late; his words had already hit Kevin like a sledgehammer, just when he'd thought he couldn't feel any worse. He flipped onto his other side so his back was facing them and pulled the sheet up over his head. When his face was safely shielded from view, he let a few tears fall and silently willed them both to leave him in peace.

* * *

_A Few Hours Later_

Kevin had just woken up from yet another nap and was staring dully at the curtain separating the two halves of the room when he heard one of the nurses drop off another visitor. He didn't bother turning around; assuming it was probably just his mom stopping by again after lunch. Thus, his heart skipped a beat when he heard Connor's voice.

"Hi," he whispered, stepping up to the edge of the bed. "You awake?"

Kevin shifted onto his back and looked up to see him giving him a sad smile. "I dropped by yesterday afternoon," Connor continued, his voice soft and soothing. "But your mom was with you and I…well." He sat down in the first chair and continued, "Are you feeling any better?"

_Better_ definitely wasn't the right word. He felt as awful as ever, even more so since he didn't know whether to grab hold of Connor and beg him never to leave or scream for the nurse to send him away, because he hated the other seeing him like this. Hell, he hated anyone seeing him like this, but especially Connor. Not for the first time, Kevin found himself wondering why, just why, someone had to find him that night in the library. Honestly, why did he even do it in the library? Why didn't he have the sense go back to his room, where he was safely locked away from the rest of humanity?

"No," he flatly answered Connor's question.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Connor said sympathetically. He looked Kevin up and down and said, "Have you left this bed since you got here? Maybe some exercise would help. Want to check with the nurse and see if we can go for a walk? It's a beautiful day."

"I don't want to go for a walk," Kevin said adamantly, though his voice was still detached as ever. "Did my doctor put you up to this? God, I'm tired of people trying to get me to go for a walk."

"Okay," Connor quickly replied. "Okay, that's fine. We don't have to." He tentatively reached forward and put his hand on Kevin's shoulder. "Look, I…I want to tell you that I'm sorry none of us realized sooner how badly you were hurting. When I found out what happened, I…gosh, Kevin, I was so…" he cleared his throat. "But just know that we're all here for you now, all right? I know what it's like to feel like your whole world's falling apart, and I don't want you to—"

"Well, the difference is you never tried to kill yourself," Kevin said dryly.

"I thought about it," Connor admitted. "When I was younger. But this isn't about me. Just—look, Kev, I know you've probably heard this a million times by now, but we all love you, okay?"

Somewhere, back in some tiny part of Kevin's brain, it felt good to hear him say that. It felt good to lay here, feeling the touch of Connor's hand on his shoulder and soaking in the warmth he seemed to radiate with his mere presence. But that part of his mind was currently drowning in the sea of overwhelming despair he felt, and he couldn't muster up a proper response.

They spent the next several minutes in silence, until Kevin felt his eyelids once again getting heavy.

"Are you tired?" Connor asked, pulling his hand away. "I'll let you get some rest."

He stood up, and Kevin found himself reaching over to grasp his arm. Connor paused.

"Don't go," Kevin pleaded. "Can you just, um, stay with me for a while?"

"Of course," Connor said, sitting back down with a reassuring smile.

Kevin closed his eyes, and after a minute or two he figured Connor must have thought he was already asleep, since, he began running his fingers through Kevin's hair. Unwilling to alert him to the truth, Kevin focused on the relaxing ministrations until he drifted off into yet another nap.

* * *

_Later That Afternoon_

When the nurse dropped off his fourth visitor of the day, Kevin was less than thrilled.

"I don't want to see you," he told Brynn, lying flat on his back with an arm over his face to shield his eyes from the light. When a small, lumpy package hit his head with a crinkle, he let out an annoyed groan.

"I brought you peanut M&Ms," Brynn explained, undeterred. "Naba said they're your favorite. She tried to visit you this morning, by the way. You were asleep, though."

Kevin remained in his position, thoroughly conflicted. Brynn was the last person he wanted to deal with right now. But the food the nurses forced him to eat here was so bland, so carefully controlled, that of course the package of chocolatey goodness currently resting by his temple seemed very appealing. He used every ounce of strength he had to reach over and grasp it, then sat up and tore the paper open.

"They're really weird about bringing food back here," Brynn said. "I wasn't sure they'd let me give you those, so I stuffed them up inside my bra before they checked me over. You don't mind, right?" She shot a glance over at the door and said, "Better eat those quick in case someone comes in."

Kevin shrugged and popped a few in his mouth. Funny how they could still taste so good when everything seemed so bleak. "Thanks," he mumbled. "But why are you here?"

Brynn faltered for an explanation. "I…" she began. "It's just—look, when I told you Ira was a drug dealer, I didn't mean you were supposed to buy his shit."

Kevin ate another handful of M&Ms, and Brynn didn't press him for a response. Clearly uncomfortable with the silence that settled between them, she began examining the cards on his nightstand. When she came across the smallest one, her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You have a get-well card from Dr. Brenner?" she asked. She picked it up and quickly skimmed the message. "He's giving you an incomplete? Damn, that's pretty good. If he's willing to do it, then the rest of them should go for that, too, right?"

Kevin finished the M&Ms and slumped back down. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I'm not going back."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not."

"You are, too. Come on, Kevin, what else are you gonna do? Lay in that bed and feel sorry for yourself forever? Keep trying to off yourself until they stick someone in here to watch you 24/7? The Kevin Price I know and hate is better than that."

Kevin glared at her. "You're being really rude."

Brynn's mouth quirked upward in a small smile. "Would you expect anything different from me?" she said. "Come on now, I hid candy in my bra; I've met my good deed quota for the day. Look, just try doing what the doctors say, all right? You've got nothing better to do in here. Get those meds out of your system, go to druggies anonymous or whatever. Then you can come back to school, finish up this semester's classes on a high note, and get a fresh start."

She finished that spiel and gave him a rare encouraging smile. "And hey," she continued. "Next time I visit, I'll bring you one of those Starbucks bottled iced coffee things. They're probably not letting you have any caffeine, right? No wonder you're so depressed. I'll smuggle it in up my vagina." Upon seeing his incredulous expression, she added, "What, you don't think it'll fit? You'd be surprised."

Kevin shook his head. "I don't want anything that's been up there," he said. "And so you have any idea what you're saying? You're basically telling me to just get better. If it were that easy, don't you think I would've done it already? Why do you even care, anyway? You hate me. You just said so."

"I do hate you, Kevin. But life would be really boring without you, and there are a lot of other people who care about you." She glanced up at the clock and stood up. "I have to go; my shift starts in fifteen. But hey, I know you can't just get better. So, maybe for now, just don't give up. One day at a time and all that shit."

She then picked up the empty wrapper, muttered something about hiding the evidence, and took her leave. Kevin stared up at the ceiling and strongly considered telling the staff to never, ever let her come back.

* * *

_That Evening_

Less than a year ago, Kevin would have found the idea of sleeping sixteen-plus hours a day absurd. Now the idea of any less was utterly exhausting. He woke up that evening to the sound of hushed voices, and as he gradually became more coherent, he recognized them as his parents. He could see their outlines behind the curtain; they were sitting side by side on the vacant bed and clearly hadn't realized he was now awake.

"Dr. Clemmons says he isn't stable enough to go home," his mother was saying. "He recommends either keeping him here or moving him to an in-patient private rehab facility. He's willing to discharge him if we do that, and he suggested place in the city—I don't remember the name, but I wrote it down. I think Kevin might respond a little better there; goodness knows he's not exactly thriving here."

"Is it affiliated with the church?" his dad asked.

"No. Dr. Clemmons doesn't think he'd take very well to that. It's going to be expensive, but they take our insurance. We can dip into savings, pull some from his college fund if we have to. And I hate to rely on charity, but I'm sure the congregation will be willing to help us if we absolutely need—"

"No," Mr. Price cut her off. "No, we aren't sending him off to some secular quack that'll only make this worse. He needs the church, Beverly."

"But Dr. Clemmons said—"

"I don't care what Dr. Clemmons said. I know my son." He snorted and went on. "Of course that doctor isn't going to recommend anything affiliated with the church; he's not Mormon. I saw his diploma. Saint Louis University. Do you really want to take the advice of a man who went to a Jesuit school?"

"It's a very good school, dear."

"I don't care. We aren't sending Kevin to that place in the city. Bishop Gunderson had some great suggestions for programs he could—"

"Bishop Gunderson didn't go to medical school, Gerald!" Kevin blinked in surprise at his mother's outburst. It wasn't loud; they were trying to be quiet, after all. But never once, in his entire life, had he ever heard her stand up to his father, or speak to him forcefully in any manner.

"I don't think you realize just what happened here," she went on. "Kevin almost _**died**_. If that student hadn't found him in time, he would've—we almost had to bury our son. A month before his twenty-third birthday. Right there in the plot next to your father, and I…I can't do it, Gerald! I am _**not**_ going to bury any of our children."

She paused then, and when she spoke again, her voice was slightly shaky. "So if this Midwestern, Jesuit so-called heathen doctor with years of experience and training thinks a secular rehab facility can keep my baby from trying to kill himself, and maybe even make him smile again, then by all means I'm gonna take his advice. And I love you, dear, but right now I don't give a _**damn**_ what you have to say about this."

Mr. Price was dead silent, and Kevin simply lay there in shock. He hadn't even thought his mother knew how to curse. A good five minutes must have passed before his dad finally spoke.

"Okay," he said, his tone short and begrudging. "If that's really what you think is best. Tell that doctor we're moving him as soon as we can get the paperwork sorted out. I'm getting a bottle of water. Would you like one?"

"Yes, please," she whispered. It sounded like she herself couldn't even believe she'd blown up at him.

Kevin quickly shut his eyes before Mr. Price could pull back the curtain. He feigned sleep as his father strode out of the room, then opened them up again once he was gone and examined his mother. She was staring down at her lap, wringing her hands.

"Mom?" he said.

She looked up, startled. "Kevin," she replied. "How long have you been awake, honey?"

Kevin simply sat up a little and stretched out his hand toward her. Without hesitation, she stood up and took it.

"I love you, Mom," he said.

"Oh, Kevin." She knelt down by his bedside with tears in her eyes. "I love you, too."

For the first time since the incident, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he might be able to get through this.


	29. Verve Awareness Week

_**Summer Before Junior Year** _

**Chapter 29: Verve Awareness Week**

_Everyone thought Kevin was doing better. Kevin himself thought he was going better. Until he wasn't, and he threw himself out the window and splattered all over the rehab parking lot._

_The doctors all felt pretty dumb, considering they'd stuck him on the fourth floor and left the window wide open, telling him, "Why don't you get yourself some air?"_

_He got himself some air all right._

Arnold jerked himself awake at 12:28 AM. Well, at least the latest in his "my best friend is dead" series of dreams didn't have any ghosts.

It was fine; he had nothing to worry about. Kevin had been at the rehab facility in Salt Lake for a couple weeks now, though Arnold had yet to visit him. ("Give him some time," Arnold's mother had suggested. "He needs time to settle in and visit with his family.") He'd only gotten the barest snippets of information from the Prices, but everything he'd heard was positive. Kevin was talking to the therapists, being a little more physically active, and was managing withdrawal a little better. Sure, that didn't mean he was completely fine now, but it was progress. So, obviously he wasn't gonna go leaping out any windows right now.

Besides, the doctors would never let a suicidal patient near any open windows that high up. What a ridiculous thought. And Arnold didn't even know if this facility had that many floors to begin with. It was just a stupid dream, that's all. Brought on by nerves, since he would finally get to visit Kevin tomorrow.

Tomorrow. No, wait, it was past midnight now. Today. At last, he would get to see just how much progress Kevin had made.

* * *

The last time Connor checked his phone, it had been 12:32 AM. Even so, he didn't plan on leaving anytime soon. The bar was sketchy, the bathroom he stood in was disgusting, and though Connor's senses were dulled by the alcohol in his bloodstream, he still caught the stale taste of cigarette smoke in this guy's mouth. But Connor had no intention of being picky tonight, so he let the man—his name was Jared, or maybe it was Jordan or it might've even been Anthony—shove his tongue down his throat without complaint.

He'd never met this man before tonight. Connor wasn't exactly proud that he'd received a sleazy Grindr message from this Jacob/Joel/Ryan or whatever and had totally taken him up on the offer, but facts were facts and that was exactly what happened. He looked to be about ten years Connor's senior—though his vision was a little blurry at this point, so it was hard to say.

He felt weak, and his head was spinning. But this exactly what he wanted. Without full control of his senses, and with his brain capacity reduced by the copious amounts of liquor he'd consumed tonight, he could block everything out.

Tonight, he didn't feel like the most boring person on Earth. He didn't question whether he lacked that certain something it took to make it on Broadway. He didn't have to wonder whether his life would consist of living alone with his cats, hoping someone special would spare him a second glance. No, none of that mattered right now. In this moment, he could pretend he had—what was the word Ira had used?

Oh, right. He glanced down at Joshua/Jonathan/Phil, who was now unzipping Connor's pants. "Do I have verve?" he asked.

Jeremy/Jeffrey/Nathaniel looked up at him with glazed, puzzled eyes. "That some sort of disease?" he replied.

Connor snorted. "Never mind," he said, leaning back and guiding this stranger's head down below his belt.

* * *

_The Following Morning_

Kevin's rehab facility was nothing like the psych ward, that was for sure. Sitting on the eastern outskirts of the city a few miles away from the University of Utah, it had a beautiful view of the Wasatch Mountains. Arnold carefully observed the property as his mom dropped him off, keeping an eye out for any fourth-story windows wide open (his fears were quickly quelled, as the building was only two floors high). It was much more pleasant than he thought it would be; one large U-shaped building surrounding a quiet courtyard garden.

A nurse greeted Arnold in the front foyer, marking his name off in the visitor book and explaining that Kevin was waiting for him in the sitting room. That was often where visitors met, she clarified. Arnold nodded, staring in wonder at his surroundings. It was remarkably cozy, like something straight out of one of those housekeeping magazines. If it weren't for the people in scrubs, he never would have guessed this was a treatment center.

He let himself be led into the sitting room, and then engulfed his friend in a tight hug the moment he spotted him curled up on one of the plush sofas. "Kevin!" he cried. "Good to see you!"

Kevin wasn't smiling, but at least he did hug him back. When they parted, Arnold looked him up and down, noting that while he looked a little better, he still didn't quite seem like himself. He'd filled out a little more over the past few weeks—definitely a positive—and he was wearing a plain gray t-shirt with sweatpants. He'd combed his hair, but it hadn't been styled with hairspray the way it usually was, and he clearly hadn't shaved in a while as he was starting to get some scruff on his face. His eyes still lacked the fire and determination they used to hold, and Arnold tried not to stare at the angry red scars that had replaced the stitches on his wrist.

After one more hug, Arnold plopped down on the couch next to him. "Buddy, I missed you!" he said, clapping Kevin's shoulder. "I can't believe I had to miss your birthday! How was it? What did you do? Did you get my card?"

"I did, thanks," Kevin said. "And it was okay. My parents picked me up and took me out to lunch. Then they brought me back here. The staff made a cake for dessert." He shrugged. "That was nice."

"Great!" Arnold nodded, trying to be as encouraging as possible. "So, what's it like here? What've you been up to? You look great, by the way."

"I look like shit, Arnold," Kevin countered. "But it's been…it's fine, I guess. Everyone's nice."

"That's good," Arnold said, though it hadn't exactly been the information he was looking for. He tried again. "How's treatment going?"

Kevin sighed. "It's going," he said. When he saw Arnold still staring at him inquisitively, he elaborated. "It's just difficult, you know? They tapered me off the pills so the physical symptoms haven't been too bad, but it's still really hard. Especially with the Adderall. I feel like I need it all the time, and I'm not even really doing anything right now."

He lifted up his legs and tucked them under him. "They keep making me color," he added. "Do you know how long it's been since I colored?"

Arnold frowned. "You mean like with a coloring book and crayons?"

"Yeah. Well, they gave me crayons originally, but then they let me have colored pencils when I asked. They said it's supposed to be calming. It is, I guess. They also made me get a massage. I didn't really want one at first, but it actually turned out to be pretty awesome."

"They have massages here?" Arnold raised his eyebrows. "Fancy."

"Yeah, it's nice," Kevin agreed. "But also really expensive. I know my parents are paying an arm and a leg for this place, which freaks me out." He pushed his bangs back out of his eyes and gazed up at the ceiling. "Let's see, what else…there's a lot of group therapy. Like, a ton. It's really weird. The people in there all seem okay, but I hate telling them about my problems. Dr. Lindbergh, my psychiatrist, says I need to open up more in there, but I don't know. I can barely talk to _**her**_ about my problems, much less a whole room."

Arnold smiled. "You'll get used to it, once you get to know them better. I mean, you can talk to _**me**_ , right?"

"That's different," Kevin countered. His eyes suddenly clouded, as if something terrible had crossed his mind, and he slumped down further on the couch.

"Lindbergh says I have clinical depression," he admitted after a moment. "Some anxiety, too, though I knew that already. Apparently the Ativan was making it worse. She put me on Prozac, but that made me sick, so I'm on Zoloft now. I have a mental illness, Arnold."

Arnold chewed his bottom lip in thought. He'd seen this coming after Kevin had confessed just how unhappy he was, but still, he wasn't sure what to say. "I know, Kev," he finally told him. "It's okay."

"I have depression," Kevin repeated flatly. "I don't know when it happened, but now I have a problem and it's going to take a long time to recover. Hell, I might never completely recover, and I'll probably have this damn scar on my wrist forever."

"Kevin, it's fine," Arnold insisted. "Lots of people have depression. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's…look, mental problems are just like physical problems. No one shamed you back when you got pneumonia in Uganda, right? Well, it's like you have pneumonia again. Pneumonia of your mind." He waved his hands around his own head with what he intended to be a mysterious gesture, though he suspected it looked dumber than he planned. Shrugging that off, he plowed on ahead.

"And hey, you're getting treatment for it now," he said. "That's just what you needed. You have therapy, you have the right medicine, you're totally on the right track! You'll get through this, Kevin. You're already doing so much better than you were at the psych ward."

As he finished that sentence, Arnold swallowed nervously. He had to ask, as much as Kevin would hate it. "Um…are you…" he paused, sneaking a glance down at Kevin's wrist.

Kevin rolled his eyes. "No, Arnold, I'm no longer planning on killing myself."

"Okay," Arnold sighed relieved. Just one more question before he could be completely appeased. "So, uh, what floor is your room on?"

"First." He scowled and added, "What, do you think I'm gonna jump out the window? They'd stop me before I could even try."

Now clearly uncomfortable, Kevin began rifling through the boxes of board games on the nearby coffee table. "I don't want to talk about this anymore; can we just play a game or something?"

"Okay," Arnold agreed. "Sure, that sounds fun."

* * *

_Later That Night_

Arnold sat in his room with his mind preoccupied, trying to distract himself by starting yet another Skyrim game. "Hey, Naba," he called, eyes glued to the screen. "What character archetype should I play this time? Mage, warrior, or thief?"

He waited a moment for her to respond. When all he got was silence, he twisted around. She was sitting cross-legged on his bed, texting with an annoyed look on her face. Weird.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked.

"Connor," she said. "He's drunk-texting me again."

"For real? That's not like him. Did he basically lose it after the whole thing with Ira?"

"I do not know. He seemed okay at the end of last semester, but now he's…never mind. Were you asking me something?"

"Yeah. Should I be a mage, warrior, or thief?"

"Mage." She set her phone down and scooted to the foot of the bed, letting her legs hang off the end. "So, how was Kevin?"

Arnold sighed. "He's, um, he's okay," he said. "He's getting a little better, but the doctors say he has depression."

"I thought that might be the case," she said, nodding. "Poor guy."

"Yeah." As much as he'd tried to encourage Kevin during his visit, Arnold couldn't help but feel a little bummed himself. He knew it was ridiculous, he'd known that from the beginning, but part of him had still hoped Kevin would be practically cured by now—smiling, talking about how much better he felt and how he'd be out of there within the next week. "I'm still really worried about him," he confessed.

"He is getting the help he needs," Naba assured him. "It will take some time, though."

"I just wish there was something I could do for him. Like, I know I can't make it all better, but just something to cheer him up a little, y'know?"

Naba opened her mouth to respond, but shut it abruptly when her phone chimed with another text. She picked it up, read it, and then hit the call button and held it up to her ear. Connor answered on the second ring.

"Naaaaba!" Arnold could hear his loud, slurred voice all the way at his desk. "Oh my God, Naba, get your ass down here! I'm with Tess from work and there's this guy here and he's so freaking _**hot**_ —"

"Go home and go to bed!" Naba cut him off, shouting angrily into the phone.

"Come on; we both know I never sleep."

"Well then try it sometime!" Naba retorted before ending the call. She tossed the phone back onto the bed, grumbling, "He doesn't even like Tess. No one likes that bitch."

She turned her focus back on Arnold then. "You _**are**_ doing something for Kevin." As she spoke, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "You are supporting him, and that is all any of us can…"

She suddenly stopped and pulled back, and Arnold could practically see the wheels turning in her head. "Actually, you know what?" she said. "I have an idea."

* * *

_The Next Day_

This was such an odd idea.

"Thanks, Mom!" Arnold called, climbing out of the SUV with a large dog in tow. "Bye!"

He watched her drive away and then tugged on the leash, trying to pull the dog away from the bush she was now curiously sniffing. "Come on, girl," he said in exasperation. On the second tug she finally lifted her head and lurched forward at a brisk pace, dragging Arnold along behind her.

"How does Naba deal with you every day?" he groaned. Digging his heels into the pavement, he finally pulled the dog to a halt and grabbed his phone. _U sure this is a good idea?_ he texted Naba. _Kevins been weird lately_.

_It'll be ok,_ she responded. _He loves dogs. He will like her_.

He made his way inside, and since Naba had already called ahead, the nurse didn't bat an eye at the dog currently sniffing everything in sight. Arnold pulled her along into the sitting room.

Kevin was sitting at that same couch, this time reading a thick paperback. He looked up at Arnold and did a double-take when he spotted his canine companion.

"Hey," he said uncertainly.

"Hi, bestie," Arnold responded.

"Um, who's dog is that?" Kevin asked, gesturing down in her direction.

"Oh, this one? Well, uh, see the thing is, Naba says animals are supposed to be able to help with depression and stuff. So, um, yeah, I brought you this dog to pet." He held the leash out lamely, feeling a little dumb. "Here you go."

"Okay, but that doesn't answer my question," Kevin tossed the book onto the coffee table and sat up a bit. "Where did it come from? Is that just some random person's dog?"

"No! No, someone dumped her off at my grandma's house. We're not really sure what to do with her, though. Especially 'cause Gran's real old and can't get around very well to walk her, so Naba's been stopping by and taking her out. We don't know her name, but Gran's been calling her Bailey. She seems to like that okay. We don't know what breed she is."

While Arnold babbled away, Bailey stepped up to Kevin and curiously sniffed his hand before giving it a few tentative licks. Pulling his hand out of her reach, Kevin reached forward and began scratching behind her ear. Bailey seemed to enjoy that, given that she leaned her entire head into the touch.

"She's gotta be some sort of mix," Kevin said, examining her long, predominantly black coat peppered with white, grey, and brown markings. "She definitely has some border collie. Probably Australian shepherd, too." He slipped forward off the couch and crouched down at her level, and Arnold actually spotted the tiniest hint of a smile on his face.

"Hi, Bailey," Kevin said. "You're a sweet dog, aren't you? And a pretty dog, too; yes you are. Come on," he told Arnold, standing up. "Let's take her for a walk in the courtyard."

Arnold beamed and handed the leash over to Kevin. As his friend led Bailey away, he pulled out his phone to send another quick text to Naba. _Ur a genius. I luv u._


	30. Bring Me My Eggplant Stat

_**Summer Before Junior Year** _

**Chapter 30: Bring Me My Eggplant Stat**

Connor wasn't answering his phone.

Naba glared down at his name on her screen as she led Bailey down a quiet little block. Normally she enjoyed this time, peacefully strolling along and admiring the rows of houses with their immaculate gardens. Today, however, she was too annoyed with her friend to care. With a few swipes, she navigated to Chris's contact information and hit the call button.

He answered on the third ring. "Hey, Naba."

"Hello, Poptarts. Is Connor there?"

"He just left for work."

"Really? I didn't think he was scheduled today."

"He wasn't," Chris explained. "Someone else couldn't make it in, so he picked up their shift. Don't ask me why; he was puking his guts out last night."

"Again, huh?" Naba sighed and shook her head. "Poptarts, do you think he is being a little, um…"

"Stupid?" he finished.

"Well, I wasn't going to put it like that."

"He _**is**_ being stupid, though. You should see some of these places he's gone to. That dog you've been walking probably wouldn't even set foot in a few of them. And who knows how many guys he's—ugh, and I don't even get it; it's not like Ira was some great catch he lost out on. Do you think we should have an intervention?"

"Let me talk to him first," Naba said.

"Will you? I mean, I've been wanting to, but it's a little hard to bring up, you know?"

"Of course. I'll try to catch him sometime today."

They bid their goodbyes, and Naba chewed her lip as she hung up the phone.

She couldn't decide whether to be furious or sad. On the one hand, Connor was acting nothing like himself and was clearly hurting. But why, just why, did he have to act out like _**this**_? Why wouldn't he tell her anything?

She'd been shocked when she found out Kevin had been buying the pills from Ira, of all people. But that evening, when Connor had come over to her apartment after breaking it off, he'd been so tight-lipped about the whole ordeal that she knew virtually nothing regarding the details.

"So," she had begun while they sat on her couch, Connor making his way through an entire bottle of cheap wine on his own. "What did he say when he found out you knew? When you called the police?"

Connor had simply stared ahead at the TV. "I don't really remember," he'd said. "How does Olivia Pope stay so freaking thin? All she ever eats are burgers and giant bowls of popcorn."

"She swims a lot. But that has nothing to do with this. What is going to happen to him now? Obviously he won't be allowed back on campus, but what will the police do? Will he have to stay in jail?"

Connor had shrugged and taken another long sip. "I don't know," he'd said with finality. "That's for them to decide. It's over; I never want to see him again."

That had been the last time they'd discussed it. Connor had thrown himself into his work and his studies for the remainder of the semester, and Naba never questioned it—mainly because he had so much to do that it was hard to tell whether he was trying to distract himself or just doing his job. But now that he had more time on his hands, it was obvious he'd been affected more than he let on. Which was exactly why she needed to confront him. She already had one friend who'd gone off the rails, after all; she couldn't let that happen to another.

Oh, why was this so difficult? She couldn't help but let her shoulders slump a little as she continued down the block. First Kevin, and now Connor. Maybe Kevin would actually have some insight into how to help. Then again, he also didn't need any more stress in his life right now. Arnold had been visiting him every day, and sometimes Naba came along as well. These visits tended to be hit or miss. Sometimes Kevin would smile and chat animatedly about various light-hearted topics, and other times he would just stare dully out the window and nod occasionally at whatever Arnold or Naba was saying as if on cue.

Bringing Bailey usually helped. It gave him something to look forward to, and he seemed to enjoy having something else to do. In recent visits, he'd begun teaching her tricks. Naba suddenly pulled the dog to a halt, deciding to see if she remembered any of them now. Bailey turned around and looked up at her questioningly.

"Sit," she said in a commanding voice. Bailey took a seat on the sidewalk.

"Good girl!" Naba cooed, crouching down and petting her head. Then she pulled her hand back and held it out near Bailey's front leg. "Now shake." Nothing happened, and she repeated herself in a firmer tone. "Shake!"

The dog continued to stare at her blankly. "You do it for Kevin," Naba pouted. Giving up, she gave Bailey one last pat before standing up. "Come on, let's head home."

* * *

_Later That Afternoon_

Connor knew he didn't have a brain tumor. It was obvious he didn't have a brain tumor. But damn, the surplus of tequila shots he'd had the night before sure made him _**feel**_ like he had a brain tumor.

He really shouldn't have accepted Hayden's shift today. The smart thing to do would've been to say he wasn't quite feeling up to it, or he had other plans, or something, anything, other than yes. But alcohol was expensive and his car payment was due, so he really needed the money right now. He reminded himself of this as he balanced a tray of food on his palm and held it over his head, approaching an elderly couple sitting at a booth.

"All right," he chirped, slipping on his best cheerful mask. "Garden primavera and seafood alfredo, coming right up."

He'd just barely lowered the tray to hand over the dishes when the woman cut in. "We didn't order that."

Connor's smile faded, and he started at her blankly. What? He could have sworn—

"We both had eggplant parmigiana," her husband chimed in.

"Right!" Connor said as it dawned on him. "Right, of course. Terribly sorry, just…one minute, please." He darted off, mentally cursing himself. Table twelve had these dishes, damn it. Well at least they'd stayed on the tray. He gave them over to the proper customers, and headed back toward the kitchen to drop off the empty tray. Then, he took out his notepad and flipped through it, trying to remember when the hell those people had told him they wanted eggplant parmigiana.

"Connor," one of the other servers hissed as she stepped through the double doors. "Table fourteen is still waiting for you."

"Okay, Emily," he said.

"I got her drink order, but you really need to—"

"Yes, I know, I'll be there in a sec." That's when he spotted the eggplant order written down, and realized he'd never actually put it in. Well, shit.

After pleading with the chef to get those up right away, he stepped back out onto the floor and approached the couple. "I apologize, it'll just be another minute on those eggplants," he said. "Would you like any more breadsticks, salad, or drink refills in the meantime?"

"No, thank you," the woman said dryly, and as Connor stepped away he heard her mutter to her husband, "We're not leaving him a tip."

He winced, and somehow the action seemed to bring about another slam of pain to his head. He bit back a groan and stepped up to table fourteen, too focused on keeping his fake grin in place to really look at the person seated there.

"Hi! My name's Connor and I'll be your server today," he recited with his notepad out and ready. "Can I start you off with any appetizers?"

"Hello, Connor." He started at the sound of that voice, and lowered his pad to see Naba grinning up at him.

"Naba," he said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm having lunch," she said, smiling sweetly.

"You came all the way up to Layton to have lunch at Olive Garden?" Connor asked dryly. "Okay, then. You want your usual? Ravioli portobello?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, silly. Obviously I want to speak to you as well."

Damn it, he shouldn't have put something like this past her. He'd been purposefully avoiding her lately (at least while sober), knowing that she had some choice words for his recent behavior.

"I'm busy," he said shortly, to which Naba only shrugged.

"You'll have to take a break sometime," she said.

"I've already taken my break," he countered. That was a lie, but one he was willing to tell. "Look, now isn't a good time, okay? We're really busy. Do you still want lunch?"

She watched him with her lips pursed, and he kept his eyes glued on his notepad to avoid her intense gaze.

"The ravioli's fine," she said.

"Great," he replied. "I'll go put that in for you."

He was gone in a flash, sending her order back to the kitchen and bringing out the couple's eggplants at last.

He managed to avoid any more hard discussions for the duration of her lunch. Naba eventually struck up a conversation with the two girls at the neighboring table, and never did anything other than smile politely whenever he brought her food, refilled her glass, or eventually gave her the check. On her way out, though, she turned around to give the girls a wave, and bumped straight into him.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" he asked, steadying her with his hands on her waist.

"Yes, sorry, I wasn't watching." she said quickly, moving past him. "Have a good day, Connor."

"See ya," he replied, then breathed a sigh of relief when the doors shut behind her.

Moments later, however, she was back. She chuckled at his confused expression and said, "I forgot my purse."

"Oh, right," he said, spotting it in one of the chairs at her now vacant table. He reached over and grabbed it, then held it out to her.

She accepted it was a grateful smile. Then, she brushed past him in a weird, invasive manner and said, "We'll talk later, yes?"

"Um, okay," he said slowly. When she was gone, he shrugged off her odd behavior and began cleaning up the table.

The rest of his shift went quickly enough; he managed to avoid mixing up any more orders but did drop a couple glasses on the way to the kitchen. He headed out to the parking lot three hours later, rolling up his sleeves and loosening his tie like he always did at the end of his shift. Then, he hit the unlock button on his key remote and slid into the driver's seat, head still pounding and thoroughly exhausted.

"Now will you talk?" The voice at his side practically made his heart leap out of his chest. He jumped and looked over to see Naba sitting there, smoothing out the creases in her skirt.

"Shit, Naba," he gasped, still trying to get his pulse under control. "What the hell? You almost gave me a heart attack. How'd you get in here?"

"I used your key," she replied.

What? He had his key. How'd she…he remembered the collision and that awkward way she'd brushed against him, and he narrowed his eyes. Damn, she was clever.

She met his glare and simply said, "If you really plan to live in New York after graduation, you're going to have to learn how to guard your pockets better."

He shook his head. "You've really been sitting here this whole time? Didn't you get hot?"

"Well, I was tired of you avoiding me. And I've dealt with worse. Come on, you can give me a ride."

He sighed and turned on the ignition. "I'm not going down to Salt Lake."

"Oh, really?" she said coolly. "I thought you might want to hit up the bars there. Or are you checking out some place closer to home today?"

He rolled his eyes, putting the car in reverse and backing out of his parking spot. "Did you take the train up?" he said. "I'll drive you to the station."

"Don't ignore me, Connor. What exactly have you been—wait," she stopped herself, and out of the corner of his eye he could see her staring at his left arm. "When did you get a tattoo?"

He glanced down at the small black compass rose he had etched on his inner forearm and replied, "A couple nights ago." That whole evening had been a complete whirlwind. He vaguely recalled making out with a skinny hipster-type who claimed to be vegan and said he was a tattoo artist. Then, they headed down the street to his tiny shop, where they had sex on one of the tables and Mr. Vegan told Connor he really, really wanted to mark him up. Looking back, the whole situation was pretty damn weird.

"Connor!" Naba shrieked. "What the fuck? Why would you—I mean, it looks good, but you can't just go out and get drunk and let people put permanent ink on your skin! Do you even know anything about the person that did it?"

"It was fine," he said, pulling out onto the road. In reality, he was pretty sure no reputable artist was ever supposed to tattoo anyone who'd been drinking, but no need to get her even more worked up. Honestly, Connor was just amazed that it was so well-done, considering they'd both been drunk.

Unfortunately, Naba wasn't convinced. "I don't know, Connor," she said.

"Well, it's a little late to be worrying about it now," he snapped. "In fact, you shouldn't be worrying about me at all. There's nothing wrong with what I've been doing; people do it all the time."

"It's dangerous, Connor," she countered. "You don't know any of those people you've been with, or their history. Have you been using protection?"

"Yes, Naba," he said exasperatedly, feeling his face redden.

"And what about the tattoo needle?"

"It was new." He remembered that, at least. "He opened up the packaging right in front of me. But I'll get tested if it makes you feel better. Happy?"

Naba stared out the window for the duration of the trip, and Connor was more than glad to maintain the silence. He knew it wasn't fair to be so abrupt with her, but there was just no way to explain this in a way she could understand. How badly he craved the numbness, the thrill, the fact that someone, in that moment, actually found him desirable.

When Connor pulled up to the FrontRunner station and put the car in park, Naba spoke up once more.

"I wish you wouldn't just brush this off," she said quietly. "Do you know how many people I've seen die of AIDS? People I loved? And you're really just going to act like this is no big—"

"I'm not going to get HIV, Naba," he said.

"How do you know?"

"I just…" he sighed and brought one hand to his throbbing forehead, the other still resting on the steering wheel. He was _**not**_ in the mood to deal with this. "Look, it's nothing you have to be concerned about, okay?"

"I just don't understand," Naba pressed. "You weren't doing this in school."

"Well, I have more time now."

"Yes, but this isn't _**like**_ you. Is it because of Kevin? Because of Ira? What exactly did he say to you, Connor?"

Connor's fingers tightened on the wheel. "I told you before; he didn't say anything," he said. Try as he might, he couldn't keep the venom out of his tone. "And you think this isn't like me? Well, people change, Naba. A couple years ago you probably would've said it wasn't like Kevin to slit his wrist, isn't that right?"

"The difference is that Kevin's in rehab now. Do we need to send you to rehab, too?"

"You know what I mean."

"So this is the new you, then?" Naba challenged. "An alcoholic who sleeps with anyone who offers? That's not the person I became friends with four years ago."

"Well, maybe it's time for you to find a new friend, then."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he looked away quickly, before he could fully absorb the hurt and anger in her eyes.

"Fuck you, Connor McKinley," she snapped. Without another word, she let herself out of the car and slammed the door behind her. Connor watched her leave with guilt welling up in his stomach.

_It's fine,_ a little voice inside his head that sounded suspiciously like Ira Gotfrey told him. _She won't be_ _upset for long. You're quite forgettable, after all_.

Mouth set in a thin line, he put the car in drive and sped away.

* * *

_A Couple Days Later_

"So anyhow, it's got its positives and negatives," Arnold was saying. "Like, if you're there, you're right in the action and get to see some of the people up close, maybe even get to meet them! Total bragging rights. But then again, you also spend all your time waiting in line for maybe, like, one or two panels. So you also miss out on a lot, y'know? But I guess you can watch that on video later."

He turned to Kevin with questioning eyes. "What do you think, bestie?"

Kevin was seated on the couch, petting Bailey while she rested her head and front paws on his lap. "I don't think it really matters," he said. "It's not like either one of us could actually afford to go to Comic Con."

"Badges aren't _**that**_ expensive," Arnold protested.

"But after hotel and travel cost? Might as well go to Orlando and have a lot more fun while you're at it."

He looked over at Arnold to see him giving him a sly grin. "What?" he asked defensively.

"Nothing," Arnold quickly said. "It's just, it's good to hear you talking about Orlando again…and hey, you shaved!" he pointed out as he examined Kevin's face. "You were getting a bit scruffy there."

Kevin ducked his head in embarrassment. He knew Arnold meant well, but he hated it when people pointed out such mundane signs of improvement, little accomplishments that were so effortless for most people. "Okay," he said. "Enough about me—"

"Have you ever thought about growing a beard?"

"No. Definitely not."

"Because I have," Arnold replied. "I think I'd look rather dashing, don't you?"

Kevin couldn't help himself; he had to laugh at that. "Sure, Arn," he said. "Totally."

Arnold giggled, and then got real quiet. Crap, what was he going to ask now?

"So, um," he began, and Kevin braced himself. "You said a while back that you're gonna have your depression for a long time. Does that mean you'll be in here for a while?"

Oh, well, that wasn't so bad. Kevin shook his head. "No," he said. "No, Dr. Lindbergh thinks I can leave before the end of summer. But I have to stay on medication and keep seeing a counselor. She has a colleague in Ogden that she recommends."

"Oh." Arnold brightened. "Okay, cool. That means we'll still be able to get that apartment together! Man, I'm excited, aren't you?"

Kevin honestly couldn't think that far ahead. He'd been pretty lucky getting things in order at the end of last semester. His supervisor in Residence Life hadn't given him a hard time, Starbucks had temporarily taken him off the schedule, and all of his instructors had agreed to give him incompletes. That meant he would have to spend the end of the summer making up assignments and final exams, and the thought of doing so without Adderall still made his stomach clench with fear and hopelessness.

_Relax_ , he told himself, giving Bailey's soft, warm head a few relaxing strokes. _Lindbergh said not to worry about that until you're ready._

"Let's talk about something else," he said. "How're Poptarts and Connor doing?" He hadn't seen either in a while.

"Poptarts is fine," Arnold replied. "He's finally taking College Algebra and some sort of marketing class this summer, so he's kind of busy. And Connor is…I'm not sure. I haven't heard from him recently. He and Naba are fighting right now."

"Seriously?" Kevin pulled his hand back from Bailey's fur and looked up in surprise. "Aren't they, like, practically in love?"

"Yeah, I think they're getting a divorce," Arnold said. "He's been acting weird this summer. Partying a lot and stuff. Naba thinks Ira might've said something bad to him when they broke up."

Kevin guiltily thought back to that awful conversation he'd had with Ira last semester, when he'd revealed just how little Connor meant to him. "He probably did," he said. And it wasn't fair; Kevin should've put a stop to it a long time ago. Connor didn't deserve that. He deserved someone who would be there for him and love him more than anything else in the world—

He was jarred out of that thought by Bailey nudging his hand with her nose, begging to be petted some more. "Aw, you're so adorable," he said fondly, scratching behind her ear. Then he turned back to Arnold and said, "Make sure Connor's okay for me, will you?"

Arnold nodded, and Kevin gave Bailey a gentle push to coax her off the couch. She hopped down and looked up at him eagerly.

"Sit," he commanded. When she plunked down on her haunches, he stuck his hand out and said, "Shake."

Without hesitation, she placed her paw in his hand. Kevin smiled. "Awesome," he said.


	31. Tickle Fights Can't Cure Depression

_**Summer Before Junior Year** _

**Chapter 31: Tickle Fights Can't Cure Depression**

"Kevin's back in his room," the nurse told Arnold when he checked in. "Fair warning, he's not having a good day today."

Arnold stifled a sigh as he and Bailey were led down the hallway to Kevin's room. This happened from time to time. When he got the go-ahead to come inside, he stepped into the room and tentatively said, "Hey, buddy," keeping his tone light and cheery.

The bedrooms at this facility were small and simple; this one featured only a twin bed, a nightstand, an armoire, two wooden chairs for visitors, and a window looking out onto the courtyard. Kevin was laying in the bed with his stuffed otter in hand, still wearing his pajamas even though it was now past noon.

"Tired, huh?" Arnold asked, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

Kevin groaned softly and nestled his head in the pillow. "Hey, Arn," he said. When Bailey stepped up to the bed and began sniffing his face, he added, "Hi, Bailey."

"We're not chilling in the living room today?"

Kevin shook his head. "I don't feel good," he said. "They adjusted my medication. And my dad's been getting on my case about procrastinating on my assignments, even though I am _**not**_ ready to do them yet, and I...ugh, I just don't like today, okay?"

Arnold nodded. "We can just hang out here," he said. "So, um, what do you want to do in here?"

"Nothing," Kevin answered, voice barely audible through the pillow. "I don't wanna do anything."

Arnold tried not to be discouraged. Again, this happened from time to time. There were days when they'd just sit in silence, Arnold reading or playing a game on his phone, while Kevin lay there lost in his own thoughts. None of the staff seemed perturbed. According to Kevin's mother, his psychiatrist felt he was improving greatly _—_ though the occasional bad day was inevitable.

Arnold was pulling up Reddit on his phone when Bailey, who had been lounging on the floor, suddenly hopped up onto the bed. She circled once before settling down in what little space was available by Kevin's side.

"Bailey, no!" Arnold said, exasperated. "There's no room for you there."

"No, it's okay," Kevin told him. "She can stay up here."

"My grandma doesn't let her on the furniture."

"Well, she can be on the furniture here. She's on the couch all the time."

"Won't she get confused?" Arnold asked.

Kevin shrugged. "She's smart." He reached over to pat her head, which she had rested on his stomach.

Arnold nodded and then stood up, struck by a mischievous idea. "Well, if there's room for _**her**_ …" He strode over with a wicked smile on his face and plopped down, stretching out on Kevin's other side. "Then there's room for me, too!"

"Arnold," Kevin whined as he was nearly crushed between human and dog. "Get off, you're squishing me."

"Nope. Best friend snuggle time."

"Arnold!" Kevin cried again. "My bed isn't big enough for this."

"Oh, so it's big enough for Bailey but not for me? You'd choose her over me, huh?"

"She's cuter than you."

"Rude!" Arnold laughed and sat back up. "Nobody's cuter than me. Now I'm gonna have to tickle you."

Before Kevin had time to really register that, Arnold stuck his hands out and began tickling his stomach. Kevin immediately began howling with laughter and tried to shove him away, and Arnold did his best to hold him down.

"No, stop!" Kevin gasped out between fits of giggles. Bailey leapt off the bed to avoid his squirming, and he called out, "Bailey, save me!"

Arnold finally relented when Bailey let out an alarmed bark, and Kevin slumped back down in his bed. "Jerk," he said.

"You mad, bro?" Arnold replied. Kevin just gave him a look of disdain before burying his head back in the pillow.

"So...are you feeling better?" Arnold asked hopefully, sitting up at the foot of the bed.

"No."

"Really? But we were having fun."

"I'm still not feeling better." Kevin lifted his head just long enough to pick up his otter, which had fallen onto the floor in the chaos, and then settled back down while holding it against his chest.

Arnold sighed and tried to remind himself not to take it personally. This was all so very much out of his league. But it was okay. Kevin was already doing better, and he would continue to improve. It would just take some time. He picked up his phone and moved back to his chair, trying to keep that in mind.

* * *

_Later that Afternoon_

Kevin sat crosslegged on his bed and simply stared out at the courtyard through his open blinds long after Arnold left, feeling numb. It was a beautiful day, he was aware. He told himself he should really get changed and try going for a walk, but his limbs felt heavy and he couldn't bring himself to move.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there before he heard a knock at the door. "Kevin?" He looked over as Nurse Trotter poked her head in. "You have another visitor."

"Okay," he said dully. It was probably his mom again, he figured, or one of his siblings. When she brought in Connor, therefore, he blinked in surprise. Connor's eyes lit up as soon as soon as he saw Kevin, and he rushed forward to pull him in for a hug.

"Kevin!" he said, arms wrapped tightly around him. Kevin felt himself leaning in to the comforting embrace. "I've missed you. Gosh, I'm sorry I haven't been down here more often." He pulled back and gave Kevin a once-over. "How are you?"

_Better, now that you're here_. Kevin pointedly chose not to voice that thought. Actually, that wasn't even the right word, since that nasty, dull feeling of hopelessness was still reverberating throughout him. _Safer_ might be the more accurate term.

"Hi, Connor," he replied instead. "What've you been up to?"

"Oh, you know," Connor said, stepping back and taking a seat in one of the chairs. "Working mostly. Picking up extra shifts here and there."

Kevin flopped back down on the bed. "Arnold says you and Naba are fighting."

Connor faltered. "Um, well, sort of," he conceded. "I wouldn't necessarily call it fighting; it's, well, it's fine, really. Nothing to _—_ "

"He says you two aren't even speaking," Kevin pointed out.

Connor cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "Okay, maybe, but _—l_ ook, you don't have to worry about any of that, Kevin. It's nothing, really."

He chuckled awkwardly and ran a hand through his hair, and Kevin did a double-take when he spotted the ink on his forearm. "You got a tattoo?" he asked.

Connor started and glanced down at his own arm, as if he had forgotten it was there. "Um, yeah," he said.

"Huh," Kevin replied. "I didn't know you wanted one. It looks good. Really good, actually. When did you get it?"

"About a week ago." Connor shifted in his seat and cleared his throat once more. "Listen, Kevin, can we not talk about me?"

"Well, I don't want to talk about me," Kevin argued, picking at a loose thread in his bed's fitted sheet. "Seriously, you know how much of that I've had to do lately?"

From of the corner of his eye, he could see Connor's lips quirk up. "I thought the great Kevin Price loved to talk about himself," he teased.

Kevin snorted. "Not when it's all about how fucked up I am."

Connor's smiled faded. "You're not...there's nothing wrong with you, Kevin."

"Yes there is," Kevin snapped. "I'm clinically depressed, haven't you heard?"

"That's not what I meant," Connor quickly amended. "I'm not saying you don't need help, I just mean you have nothing to be ashamed of. You aren't broken."

Kevin continued picking at the thread, not really sure what to say. So many people had told him the same thing, from his mother to Arnold to Dr. Lindbergh. Even so, he couldn't quite make himself believe it.

Connor was silent for a moment, studying him intently. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked gently. "I don't have to stay if you're not feeling well."

With anyone else, Kevin would have said yes at this point. He was tired, cranky, and felt like he'd had more than his share of human interaction for the day. When he looked up into Connor's eyes, though, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"No," he said. "No, stay with me."

* * *

_Late that Night_

By the time Connor made it back home from the bar in downtown Salt Lake, his head was practically swimming. He slowly stepped out of his car and made his way to the house with shaky legs, trying to unlock the door without too much racket.

As he entered the living room, he was surprised to find the light still on at this hour. Chris was seated in one of the armchairs, watching him with a look of disparagement.

"Hey, Connor," he said shortly.

"Poptarts!" Connor found himself replying cheerily. The vision of his friend in front of him swayed as he shut the door. He gave Chris a lopsided grin and asked, "Whatcha still doing up?"

"What are **_you_** still doing up?" Chris retorted.

"Being a whore." The words escaped his lips before he could fully process them, and he bit back a giggle.

"I can tell. Is that a hickey on your neck?"

"Is it?" Connor tilted his head and rubbed his hand up and down the side of his neck. "Probably," he said before dissolving in a fit of laughter.

Chris shook his head. "You're drunk off your ass," he remarked. "Were you down in Salt Lake?"

"Uh huh. I visited Kevin this afternoon, and then I found out my friend Emily was free so...um..." Connor lost his train of thought in the middle of that sentence and merely let it die.

Chris scowled. "Oh yeah? Cool story. Hope you at least picked a clean bathroom to get it on in this time."

Connor narrowed his glassy eyes at him as he slowly settled onto the couch. "Oh come on," he slurred. "Are you mad at me for doing something straight people do all the time with no backlash at all?"

"Really? Don't pull the discrimination card on me." Chris rolled his eyes. "I'm mad at you for driving 25 miles home on your own while clearly still drunk. Why didn't you just stay with Emily? Or call someone, or hell, take the fucking train, asshole!"

"Language," Connor giggled. "You really are mad, huh?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm freaking pissed," Chris snapped, leaning back in the chair. "You could've been killed. You could've killed someone else. That really would have ruined your buzz, don't you think?"

"Oh, please," Connor waved a hand dismissively. "I wasn't gonna kill anyone. I was careful."

Chris snorted. "Careful, right. Sure. So what if there'd been a DUI checkpoint set up? Was throwing away all your savings and spending the night in jail part of your plan for the best night ever? Hey, maybe you could've been cellmates with Ira. Yeah, that would've shown him."

Connor glared at him. "Why're you always so sarcastic?" he said. "God, you suck."

Chris ignored that and went on, "You know, my parents are starting to get a little fed up with you. I overheard them talking about it earlier. They don't know how to bring it up, but they aren't exactly thrilled with the way you've been acting."

Connor grumbled and slumped over on the couch. "Then tell them to kick me out like mine did."

Chris sighed, the anger in his eyes dulling slightly. "They're not gonna kick you out," he said. "They love you; they'd never do that. They're just worried about you. We all are. Well, maybe Kevin isn't, but that's only because he's in the looney bin and probably doesn't know what you've been up to."

"It's called a rehab facility." Connor's voice was muffled by the throw pillow.

"Whatever. Now go to your room and, I don't know, think about what you've done."

"I don't have a room. It's just the guest room."

"It's your room and you know it. Get your ass up there; you're grounded."

Connor let out a short chuckle and felt his eyes getting heavy as he lay there on the couch. He knew Chris was right; he really needed to muster up the energy to head upstairs. But it was so comfy here, and the the pillow under his head was just so soft...

As he felt his consciousness fading out, he vaguely registered Chris's voice, saying, "Seriously? _**Now**_ you want to fall asleep? You better not throw up on the sofa." Then, he drifted off into a deep, dreamless oblivion.


	32. Never Trust a Man with a Ginger Martini

_**Summer Before Junior Year** _

**Chapter 32: Never Trust a Man with a Ginger Martini**

Kevin was lounging on the sofa reading a paperback when Arnold stopped by. "Kevin! Hi, best friend!" he chirped, plopping down next to him.

Kevin looked up and smiled, though his brow immediately creased when he noticed Arnold was alone. "You didn't bring Bailey with you?" he said.

"Nah." Arnold quickly wracked his brain for a lie. He didn't have the heart to tell Kevin that his grandma didn't think she could take care of Bailey after Arnold and Naba went back to college, that she told him last night she was putting her in the shelter soon, and that Arnold hadn't brought her because he didn't want Kevin to get more attached than he already had. "She's, uh, at the groomer. Yep. Getting all, y'know, clean and stuff. Nice and clean. A clean dog is better than a dirty dog; that's what I always say."

Okay, maybe it wasn't necessarily his smoothest lie, but whatever.

Kevin set the book down and made a noncommittal noise, unable to hide the disappointment from his face. "Can you bring her tomorrow?" he asked.

"Sure!" Well, crap. Deciding it was probably best to change the subject, he added, "So, you excited?"

The smile was back, and it was clear Kevin knew exactly what Arnold was talking about. "Hell yeah," he replied. He'd recently learned he would be discharged at the end of the week. "I'm so excited, you have no idea. It's gonna be weird, though, you know? I mean, I haven't been here long, but still."

He paused, hesitating before saying, "I'm also a little scared."

"You'll be fine," Arnold assured. "Just make sure you talk to someone if you're feeling bad. You can always talk to me." He gave him what he thought was a comforting pat on the shoulder, though he must have clapped him a bit too hard because Kevin winced. "Sorry! So, um, are you gonna celebrate with your family?"

Kevin shrugged. "Sort of. They said I could pick out dinner."

"Did you say you wanted pizza?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"A man knows these things about his bestie."

Kevin laughed. Arnold couldn't help but chuckle as well. "Oh, man, Kevin, I'm so happy you're getting out," he said. "And then soon it'll be August, and we'll be moving into our apartment!"

"Mmhm," Kevin said, slightly less enthusiastic than Arnold would've hoped. "Honestly, I haven't really thought about that much yet. I've gotta take care of my classes first." He sat back a little and added, "That's going to take a while, especially chem. I suppose We should clean before we move in; that's always a good idea. And I guess we'll have to get furniture. And kitchen stuff, and bathroom cleaner, and a vacuum, and—shit, we have like know time to do all of this; we're gonna have to get everything before—"

"Hey, Kev, hey, calm down." His shoulders had tensed up, and he was getting a panicked look in his eye. Arnold reached over and put his hand back on his shoulder, this time giving it a gentle squeeze. "It'll be fine; don't worry. We'll get everything taken care of."

Kevin looked at him uncertainly. "I just feel like I've wasted so much time here."

"Nothing was wasted. You've been getting treatment, and that's the most important thing of all!" Arnold beamed up at him and added, "Focus on the good things. We'll have our own space, and you can cook, and we'll have pizza night once a week!"

"I guess," Kevin said, relaxing somewhat. "Yeah, I guess that'll be nice."

"That's the spirit." Arnold hopped up, pulling Kevin up with him. "Come on, buddy, let's go walking in the garden thing."

"You mean the courtyard?"

"Yeah, that thing. Close enough."

* * *

_That Night_

Connor sat at the bar, absentmindedly swirling the ice his second gin and tonic with a stirrer. He wasn't sure where his friends Tess and Emily were—somewhere on the dance floor, probably. Or maybe they were too drunk to remember he was with them, and they'd moved on to another place. But he didn't feel like looking for them; it was quieter over here, and truth be told he actually had a bit of a headache.

The club was nice, although a little too pretentious for Connor's tastes. It was located in the heart of Salt Lake's Avenues district, and had a clean, sparse feel. It was also expensive, though they'd come on Emily's suggestion so Connor really wasn't surprised. He finished up his drink, lost in his own thoughts.

"You're too pretty to be drinking alone." Connor snapped his head up in surprise and looked over to see a tall, dark-haired, incredibly handsome twenty-something stranger standing at his side. He was wearing tight jeans and a black shirt that perfectly accented his muscular figure, the first few buttons strategically undone. Connor couldn't help but stare.

"But then again," the man continued, the corners of his bright blue eyes crinkling as he settled into the seat next to Connor. "So am I. Guess we'll have to drink together, right?"

He had a beer bottle in his right hand, the left holding a martini glass which was filled to the brim with a pale orange liquid. Placing the beer on the counter, he extended his hand. "I'm Bradley," he said.

Connor reached forward and returned the handshake. "Connor," he replied.

"Nice to meet you, Connor," Bradley said smoothly. "Another?" He slid the martini toward Connor.

Connor looked up at him, brow raised. "This isn't what I've been drinking," he said. "How do know I'll even like it?"

Bradley smirked. "I think I know how to satisfy your tastes," he said.

What a tool. _A hot tool_ , a little voice in the back of his head—one he'd been paying way too much attention to lately, spoke up. Connor took a sip of the martini. It was actually quite disgusting. There was a strong presence of ginger in it, and Connor hated the taste of ginger. Still, though, Bradley was a very attractive man, so Connor swiftly downed the entire glass and sidled up to him.

"Let's dance," he said.

* * *

Chris answered the door within ten seconds of Naba ringing the bell. "Hey," he said, stepping back to let her in. "I'm just watching a movie, what's up?"

She stepped inside and noticed the TV paused in the living room. "Is Connor here?" she asked.

Chris flopped back down in his seat. "What do you think?" he asked dryly.

She sighed and settled down in the nearest chair. "He's out again, I see? I was hoping we could talk."

"Well, good luck with that. I haven't exactly gotten anywhere."

Naba nodded; she knew that feeling all too well. She stared down at her hands in her lap for a full minute, not quite sure what to do now. She'd hadn't even known exactly what she wanted to say on her way over, and now she wondered why she'd ever thought, given his recent behavior, that stopping by at his house at this time would be successful.

"I hate fighting with him," she admitted. She was still furious at how casually he'd brushed off her concerns, but this was exhausting. Honestly, she missed him. She was tired of wondering what he would think about something, or seeing a funny joke or picture she figured he'd appreciate, or simply going to send him some mundane text and then remembering they were no longer on speaking terms. More than anything, she wanted things to go back to the way they were.

Chris was quiet for a moment, staring down at the remote in his hand. "How'd you get here?" he asked.

"Train and cab," she replied. "I thought he might be out, but I…no, it's late; I'm sorry. I guess I should have called first—"

"No, no, you're fine. I'm not tired," he quickly assured her. "You could've texted me; I would've picked you up from the station. Want to watch this with me? You can spend the night and talk to Connor whenever he bothers coming back home. We just can't be loud; my parents are asleep."

That actually sounded really nice. She really didn't feel like heading all the way back to Salt Lake, or even to the much closer apartment she shared with Jami and Brynn for that matter. "What movie is it?" she asked.

" _The Imitation Game_. I just started; I can back it up if you want."

"Okay," she agreed; scooting back to make herself a little more comfortable.

* * *

Connor hadn't counted the minutes, but he was pretty certain he and Bradley didn't stay on the dance floor for long. It all blurred together; one moment they were dancing, the next Bradley was pressing against him groping his backside, and now he had Connor shoved against the wall in a corner by the bathroom, kissing him fiercely.

Connor's eyes slid shut, and he let his mouth be devoured. He knew next to nothing about Bradley, but he sure was an amazing kisser. Or perhaps Connor was just too drunk to know any better. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he wrapped his arms around Bradley's neck in order to keep himself upright. How odd, he noted dully in the back of his mind. He really hadn't had much to drink that night. Hell, he barely even felt buzzed before that martini. How much alcohol had been in the damn thing?

It was all happening so fast. With each passing second, he grew more and more weary. Should he really be this tired right now? His lips continued to move against Bradley's on autopilot, through his senses had become so thoroughly dulled by this point, it felt as if he was barely there. When Bradley tightened his grip on Connor's hips and nipped lightly on his lower lip, Connor tried to lift his hand and stroke his cheek, only to find he couldn't really move. Something was screwing up the communication between his brain and his limbs, and his arm remained right where it was.

Connor's lips stilled, and he tried to force his mind to focus while Bradley's mouth travelled down his neck. He couldn't move; why couldn't he move? This was all so very, very wrong. He'd never felt like this before. He knew what being drunk felt like—he knew that very well by now—and this wasn't it. He'd never lost control of himself so fast, never felt so fatigued after just two gin and tonics and one martini—

Holy shit. The martini. The realization slowly crept up, fear manifesting itself in some small pocket of his mind that could still function. He'd been drugged.

"Stop." He barely managed to utter the word, since it felt like the majority of his vocabulary was slipping from his brain, forgotten forever. "Stop," he said again, when Bradley continued grinding up against him and sucking on his collarbone.

"Hush." Bradley made no move to halt his actions, aside from trailing his lips back up to Connor's face. "Kiss me."

He smashed his mouth down against Connor's once more, and Connor found himself trapped. Unable to push away, pull back, or even close his mouth off to Bradley's wandering tongue.

"Stop," he repeated quietly, one last time.

"Let's take this somewhere a little more private," Bradley said. "Oh, the things I want to do to you."

Connor could hear the words, but he couldn't really process them. A tiny voice in the back of his head was panicking, telling him that this was bad, very bad, but the larger part of him felt so sluggish, so detached, that all he could do was sit there quietly, eyes still closed, letting the situation unfold.

"Connor? Connor!" Was that his name? It sounded familiar. So did that voice. Who was it? Some girl…he obviously knew her, but from where?

"Connor, what the fuck?" she continued. He tried to open his eyes, but it was so damn hard his lids barely even fluttered. He heard her snap at Bradley, voice sharp and deadly. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Who the fuck are _**you**_?" he shot back.

"I'm his ex. He owes me child support. Bitch hasn't paid in six months. Is this how you're spending our children's money, Connor? At the bar? Johnny needs new shoes!"

After a split-second silence, Bradley muttered "Nope. No way in hell." Connor felt the man pull away and make his retreat, and he stumbled forward against the girl's shoulder the moment he lost the support.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get you out of here."

Connor stood there helplessly, still at a loss for anything that had just occurred. "Stop," he said again, because it was the only word still on his tongue, still readily available.

"Connor, it's fine. He's gone now. Hey, Jami!" she suddenly called, loud enough to be heard throughout the club. Connor grimaced.

"Oh my god, Brynn, what the hell—Connor!" There was a second voice in the picture now, just as familiar as the first. "Are you okay?"

He finally forced his eyes to stay open for longer than a few seconds. She was staring at him. Did she want him to say something? "Stop," he told her weakly.

She frowned, but before she could say anything Brynn interjected. "Yeah, yeah," she said. "He stopped. I already told you. Help me get him home, Jami."

He shut his eyes again and let them lead him out of the bar, putting all his energy into staying upright.

* * *

Chris and Naba had just finished the movie when Chris's phone rang. He paused with the RedBox case still in his hand and frowned.

"Why's Jami calling me?" he mumbled aloud. He hit the accept button and put the phone on speaker. "What's up?" he asked. Naba stayed put next to him, listening quietly.

"Poptarts?" Jami's voice was tense. "Um, do you know where Connor's health insurance card is?"

Chris froze, and Naba felt her heart plummet. "What's wrong with him?" she cried, before Chris could respond.

"Naba? Oh, hi! Well, we're not really sure. Brynn and I found him at this new place in the Avenues. Brynn was headed to the bathroom and saw this sleazebag all over him. We thought he was just really drunk at first and were on our way to drop him off with you guys, but then he was shaking threw up on me and passed out Brynn thinks he was either drugged or has alcohol poisoning. He should be fine, but we're at Davis now."

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Chris said. "I'll get his card."

"Okay, thanks. They've taken him back already so just—"

She was abruptly cut off, and Brynn's voice came over the line. "Bring a clean shirt, too," she demanded

"Brynn," they could hear Jami admonish in the background. "It's fine. I can change at the apartment—"

"Seriously? You smell fucking disgusting. Poptarts, Naba, bring her a clean shirt or I swear I'll replace every goddamned song on your iTunes with Kidz Bop."

The line went dead then. Chris sighed and stood up, tossing the Redbox case on the coffee table.

"His card's probably in his wallet," he said. "He never takes his wallet with him when he goes out drinking, just his license and some tip money. Probably should keep the card with him too, but he likes to pretend he's never gonna have to use it."

He hurried up the stairs, and Naba stayed put on the couch, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. It was fine, she tried to tell herself. This wasn't like it had been with Kevin. The doctors would fix him up and send him on his way, hopefully having learned his lesson. But still…it had been so close.

What if Jami and Brynn hadn't been there to help? Jami had said there was a guy there trying to take advantage of him. What if he'd had his way with Connor and then dumped him off somewhere, intoxicated, assaulted, and unable to do anything about it? Or hell, what if he was some axe murderer who then hacked Connor into tiny pieces afterward, and the last thing she'd ever said to him was _fuck you_?

She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, burying her face in her hands. She didn't know what to do with all these feelings. There was relief, because Jami and Brynn _**had**_ been there and intervened in time. But she was still so scared, and so damn upset it had even gotten to this point.

"Here we go." She lifted her head to see that Chris had returned with a purple T-shirt and Connor's billfold in hand. Her distress must have shown on her face, because he paused and fumbled a few feet from her. She blinked up at him, surprised when a few tears leaked out the corners of her eyes.

"Hey now," he said awkwardly. "Don't cry. It'll be okay. Come on, let's go."

Davis Hospital was only a few miles away from Chris's house, but the drive felt like an eternity. Naba was so sick of seeing her friends in hospitals. They parked by the ER entrance and stepped inside the waiting room, and Naba smelled Jami before she saw her. She wrinkled her nose, examining the brown slop splattered across Jami's shoulder and down the front of her blouse. Brynn was seated clear on the other side, hand clasped over her mouth.

"Have they said anything?" Naba asked.

"No," Jami replied. "They didn't seem too concerned, though. I guess they've dealt with it enough to know what they're doing."

Chris came back from delivering Connor's card to the receptionist. "Here," he said, holding the shirt out to Jami. "Sorry he puked on you. That sucks."

Jami took it and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, it's fine," she quickly assured. "Happens all the time; I'm an elementary ed major. Being thrown up on, it's nothing."

"Right. Well, this should fit. I got it for free at homecoming last year, and it was way too big on me, so—" He stopped, face reddening as he glanced between Jami's tall chubby figure and his short scrawny one. "Not that you—"

"No, no, you're fine. I know what you meant."

"I mean, you look great, really—"

"Poptarts, don't worry about it," Jami assured him with a little laugh. "The shirt's fine, thanks. Here, I'm gonna go change."

She stood up and hurried into the bathroom, and Naba couldn't help smiling wryly at Chris. "Smooth," she said.

"Shut up."

He sat down in the chair next to Naba and leaned back, letting his head rest against the wall. After a few seconds, he let out humorless snort and looked over at Brynn.

"He's gonna be pissed that you two brought him here," he said.

Naba pursed her lips. That was true; Connor hated being taken care of, and he was so afraid of having an exorbitant medical bill that he wouldn't even get a physical.

"Well, I don't care if he's pissed," Brynn snapped. "What's he gonna do about it? Pray at me? Send a dirty look in my general direction?"

Chris shrugged. "No way in hell is his crappy insurance going to cover all this. They can put him on a payment plan, I guess. My folks will probably offer to help him out, and then he'll decline, and they'll insist, and he'll decline again, and it'll just go back and forth like that forever." He pulled out his phone, adding, "I guess I should call them and tell them what's going on."

The door to the women's restroom swung open and Jami stepped out, freshly clad in Chris's t-shirt. "Much better," she said. "I have _**got**_ to shower when I get home, though."

She sat back down, and they all waited in silence while Chris spoke to his parents. Naba stared up at the clock, watching the minutes tick by and knowing that, despite the others' assurances, she wouldn't rest easy until she had final confirmation that her friend would be okay.

* * *

_Early the Next Morning_

Connor woke up to a blinding white light, and for a moment, he thought he was dead. That wass the only thing that could explain this brightness. Then he realized he felt too awful to be in heaven but not quite bad enough to be in hell, so he must obviously still be alive. What the heck was going on?

He flickered his eyes, trying to shield them from the glare, and then heard a voice nearby. "Connor?" It was only a whisper, but still manage to send a searing pain through his head.

"Naba," he said, his own voice cracking. "Where…"

He finally managed to keep his eyes open long enough to find himself looking up at a fluorescent overhead light. He registered the IV in his hand, the hums of a few medical machines he couldn't quite identify, and the telltale railing of his hospital bed, and then shut his eyes and groaned.

"Shit," he muttered. This was so much worse than being dead. Okay, maybe that was being dramatic, but still. "Please tell me I wasn't brought here in an ambulance." No way in hell could he ever possibly afford—

"No. Jami and Brynn brought you here," Naba replied. With great effort, he craned his neck a little to see she was sitting in a plastic chair that she'd pulled up right next to his bed. "You've been here since late last night. They should be sending you home very soon, though. How are you feeling?"

He gave her the best glare he could muster. He'd only had the flu twice in his entire life, but this felt a lot like that. Maybe even worse.

Naba didn't seem to put off by his expression. "Do you remember what happened?" she pressed on.

"Umm…" Connor wracked his brain, trying to recall the night's events. "I remember losing Tess and Emily…sitting at a bar…drinking something gross with ginger…and, uh…"

That was it. That was where his memory stopped. Well, damn. It wasn't uncommon for a heavy night of drinking to result in nothing but vague recollections, but waking up in a hospital bed with an entire chunk of time completely missing from his mind? Nothing good could come of that.

He gave Naba a shrug. "That's all I've got," he said.

She sighed and fidgeted nervously. "Connor," she began. "You were drugged."

He stared at her blankly. "What?" he asked weakly.

"The doctor found GHB in your system. We think the man you were with slipped it in your drink."

Connor crinkled his forehead in thought tried to recall being with anyone else. Try as he might, nothing came to mind.

Naba was watching him, concern in her eyes. "You don't remember him?" she asked. "Brynn saw you making out with some creep she didn't recognize."

He finally remembered something then. Not a full memory; it was barely even a second in length and there were no sights or sounds to go with it. It was more of a feeling, really. His back was against a wall, and he was whispering for some unknown figure to stop while the person pressed kisses against his neck.

A sick, queasy feeling hit him right in the gut. No, this could _**not**_ be happening.

"Did he…" Connor dreaded the answer, but he had to ask. "Was I…"

Naba quickly shook her head. "No. No, Brynn and Jami found you before he could really do anything. Do not worry; you are safe now."

Connor heaved a sigh of relief. Oh, thank God. He brought his hands up to his face and lay there with residual fear still coursing in his veins.

"Naba," he whispered after a moment, slowly pulling his hands back. "I think I really fucked up this time."

He wished she would have denied it straight away. Instead she was quiet, chewing her bottom lip in thought.

"It is not your fault that asshole drugged you," she finally replied. "But Connor, you really need to be more careful." She leaned forward a little and placed her hand on his shoulder. "I went to your house last night. I was hoping to speak to you. I…I'm tired of fighting with you. Please, just tell me why you've been acting out so much."

Her gaze felt like it was piercing right through him, and he had to look away.

"Connor, talk to me," she persisted. "If you were doing this because you enjoy it, because you really think it's fun, that would be one thing. But I don't think that's the real reason. This all goes back to Ira and Kevin, doesn't it? Why won't you just tell me what Ira said to you—"

"I thought he loved me, Naba." Connor closed his eyes again and rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "I didn't love him, but I thought he loved me, and damn, that felt nice."

Maybe it was the sickness and sheer exhaustion that was finally making him spill his guts, but now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. "But he didn't," he continued. "It was all just another game to him. Not that I should be surprised. It's like he said; my own family doesn't care about me, so why would anyone else? Did you know my sisters don't even talk to me anymore? They don't hate me like my parents do, but it's like, I don't know, they've gotten used to not having me in their lives, so they don't even try now."

He refused to open his eyes; he didn't want to see her expression. Her grip on his shoulder tightened.

"So, you've been getting drunk and trying to pretend the men you've been with are in love with you?" she said softly. "Oh, Connor. You don't have to pretend that people love you. So many of us already do. And I wish you could love yourself just as much."

She loosened her grip and started trailing her hand up and down along his arm. "I know it is hard," she said. "But you can't listen to Ira. He knows nothing of love, and he deceived us all—"

"Maybe, but I should've been able to figure out what he was up to."

"How could you have known? None of us knew."

"Your father did." He finally opened his eyes back up then and took in her dubious stare. "He knew the moment he met him."

"Baba figured out that Ira was selling prescription pills to Kevin?" she asked skeptically, eyebrows raised.

"Well, no," Connor sighed, gazing up at the ceiling. "But he could tell something was up with him. He warned me about it, and I didn't—God, if I had just paid more attention instead of being so caught up in the idea that maybe I could actually be with someone…well, then, perhaps Kevin wouldn't have tried to kill himself."

A heavy silence filled the room, and briefly, his eyes flickered back over to her. She looked so heartbroken.

"You can't blame yourself," she told him. "We all could have been more astute with Kevin, but he chose to buy those pills. And if Baba warned you, well, then that would have been at Christmas, right? Kevin was already taking them by then. Yes, in hindsight we all missed several warning signs and should have intervened sooner, but what is done is done. He is doing much better, and we all have to move forward and focus on helping him now. So please, stop trying to punish yourself."

She slumped forward and rested her head on his chest. "And you _**will**_ find someone," she added. "Someone who loves you more than anything, just like you deserve."

"Will I?" he asked doubtfully. "Ira says I have nothing going for me and that my only defining feature is being nice. Those aren't exactly the words most people use to describe their perfect life partner."

Her head snapped up, and she scowled. "That is bullshit," she snapped. "And even if it were true, so what? Kindness is the best quality a person can ever have, and you have so much kindness in you—but that is not all. You are smart, and handsome, and talented…and Ira doesn't see that because he is a fucking piece of shit."

Connor couldn't help but let out an amused snort. "You have a way with words," he said. She chuckled and rested her head back down, and Connor began playing with her hair.

"I've been so awful to you," he said, heart filled with remorse. "Poptarts, too. I'm sorry about that."

"I forgive you," she replied. "And I'm sure Poptarts can be bribed. But you'll have to buy Jami a new outfit."

"Really? Oh my gosh, did I throw up on her?"

"Afraid so. You ruined her brand new blouse from The Limited."

"Ugh." He placed a hand on his forehead and cringed. "Well, at least it wasn't Brynn."

Naba laughed. "True. Are you going to stop drinking?"

Connor sighed. "I'm not gonna get plastered anymore, if that's what you're asking." After the ridiculously close call he'd just faced, he had absolutely no desire to be in such a compromising position ever again.

"Good." They lay there quietly for a few seconds before Connor broke the silence.

"You think I can get them to give me Ambien while I'm here?"

She looked over at him with a bemused smirk. Then she shook her head, stood up, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to go tell the nurse you're awake," she said.

* * *

_That Afternoon_

"Woah, slow down." Arnold tried to keep a firm grip on Bailey's leash as she pulled him toward the rehab center's entrance, tail wagging rapidly in excitement. "Okay, okay, I get it. Kevin's your favorite."

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness as she drug him along behind her. He wished his grandma didn't have to give her up. He'd thought about asking if his parents could take her, but ultimately decided it was no use; they'd never been into having pets. She was such a sweet dog, though, and he didn't her to be without a home…

He shook his head, putting the thought out of his mind. His grandma would make sure she went to a no-kill shelter, and they would treat her well. Besides, he told himself, pushing open the front door. This was a happy day. Kevin was heading home soon, and he should really think of some sort of nice gesture to celebrate his return. A gift, maybe? What would Kevin like? He couldn't exactly afford tickets to Disney World.

He signed in at the front desk and found Kevin waiting for him in the living room. Bailey let out a happy little yip and jerked forward immediately upon seeing him, her leash slipping right out of Arnold's hand.

"Bailey!" Kevin said happily, reaching down to give her a hug. "I missed you yesterday. Are you glad to see me?" When she licked his cheek, Kevin laughed and pulled back a little. "Aww, yes you are! You're the best dog ever, you know that?"

Arnold took a seat on the couch, watching him fawn over her. This was nice. He loved seeing Kevin in a good mood, and Bailey always seemed to perk him up a little—

Wait a minute. He grinned, struck with a brilliant idea.

"Where'd your grandma take her to get groomed?" Kevin was saying, combing his fingers through the fur on her back. "They did a real craptastic job. She looks the same." He looked over at Arnold, puzzled by his gleeful expression. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Arnold replied slyly.

He knew exactly what Kevin's gift would be.


	33. Kevin Isn't Your Darling

Kevin had really thought he'd be ecstatic today. He was going home, after all.

But the truth was, everything was just so damn awkward. It had started the moment his parents had picked him up, with tentative smiles on their faces that clearly indicated they were happy to see him but terrified to manage him on their own. Then it continued during the long, silent drive back to North Ogden, and increased when, instead of heading straight home, they pulled into the parking lot of Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Kevin internally cringed. He'd been soured out on KFC ever since his parents had brought him there to tell he was stuck at Weber State, yet they still insisted on coming just about every week.

"I thought we were getting pizza," he'd said.

"That's for dinner," his mother had chirped. "It's time for lunch, and I really don't feel like cooking today."

Thus, the awkwardness culminated in him sitting at a booth with a paper plate full of food in front of him, none of his siblings present, and his parents staring nervously at him across the table like he would combust at any moment.

"So, um," Kevin picked up the plastic fork and stabbed absentmindedly at his coleslaw. "Where are the others?"

"Oh, they're at home," Mrs. Price said. "Your father and I thought you might want some quality time with us first."

"Right," Kevin replied flatly.

"They're very excited to see you, dear."

"Oh, are they?"

"Lose the attitude, son," Mr. Price admonished. "We just don't want to overwhelm you."

"And we also want to discuss your plan," his mother added.

"My plan? For what? To stop myself from cutting and drugging it up? That plan?"

"Kevin!" Mrs. Price hissed, glancing around furtively. Mr. Price didn't say anything; he merely gave him a glare so fierce it would've sent his pre-mission self cowering in shame.

Kevin sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. He knew he was being unnecessarily combative, but he couldn't really help it right now. "I'm just not sure what we have to talk about. I'm taking my medicine as directed and we've got that appointment set up with the counselor Dr. Lindbergh recommended. What more do you want?"

"Well, honey," Mrs. Price began. "For starters, we're a little concerned about your finals."

"Okay, right, me too." Kevin nodded in agreement. "But there's not really anything you two can do about them. I'm just gonna have to sit down and get myself caught up—"

"Yes, we know that," she cut in. "But we'd prefer if one of us stayed with you."

"What? Mom, come on. I mean, I don't have them all scheduled yet, but I assume I'll be taking them on campus with the professor proctoring. You can't just sit there while—"

"Yes, honey, I understand. We're not talking about the actual exams."

"But while you study and finish your last assignments, we don't want you going unsupervised," Mr. Price explained.

"Seriously?" Kevin asked, incredulous. "How am I supposed to get anything done with you two watching my every move?"

"Look at it from our perspective, Kevin," Mrs. Price said. "This is the first time you've had to do anything academic since, well, since the _**incident**_ —"

"And you have quite a bit to do in a short period of time, since you never studied in rehab like I advised," his dad added. "So it's going to be a lot harder on you."

Kevin felt himself prickling in anger. "Like you advised? Well gee, sorry for actually trying to focus on healing instead of just cracking open my chem book in Lindbergh's office."

"That's enough of your smart mouth, young man," Mr. Price snapped. He turned toward his wife, gesturing in Kevin's direction. "See what that place has done to him? This is why I wanted him working with the church!"

Kevin scowled at him and bit into a chicken strip. "I never would've forgiven you if you sent me back to the church."

"Don't talk with your mouth full. And cut the dramatics."

"Don't tell me what to—"

"Alright, Gerald, Kevin, enough," Mrs. Price cut in. "This is a happy day, we shouldn't be fighting." She looked over at Kevin and paused, fiddling with her hands as if trying to figure out exactly how to phrase her thoughts. "Look, honey, it's not that we want to watch your every move. We just want to make sure you're okay. Please, just promise you'll work in the common areas, with one of us or your brothers and sisters around."

He chewed slowly on another bite of his chicken and stared into her pleading eyes. Damn it, he couldn't say no to her. If it wasn't for her, he probably wouldn't have been able to attend rehab and recover as well as he had.

"Fine," he said sullenly.

* * *

_That Evening_

Kevin had known getting back into his studies would be difficult. But honestly, he hadn't expected this.

Really, he should have felt much better than he did. He was curled up on the couch with his Principles of Microbiology book and notes, belly full of pizza, and the family's two labs, Milo and Maggie, by his side. By all accounts, this should have been the perfect environment for studying.

Except it wasn't, because his mother sat in the armchair to his left, watching him like a hawk. She was pretending to read an article in _Reader's Digest_ , but out of the corner of his eye, Kevin could see her furtively glancing over at him every few seconds. Whenever he would blatantly look up at her, she would quickly shift her focus back down to the magazine in her hands.

When this happened for the tenth time, Kevin finally let out an exasperated sigh. "Mom," he snapped.

"What is it, dear?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Stop watching me; I can't focus."

Instead of backing off, she somehow took this as an invitation to become even _**more**_ invasive. Kevin tried not to grind his teeth in frustration.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"Microbiology."

"Yes, honey, I know that. I can see the title. What part of the class are you studying? Tell me about it."

Kevin stifled another sigh. He really didn't have time for this right now.

"Antigen processing," he said. "I can't really explain it to you."

"Why not, dear? It'll give you more practice for the final. Won't you be a math tutor in the fall? You really need to learn how to explain these things."

"That's different. You haven't been learning this all semester; I can't just go over one of the last chapters with you and expect you to understand." He tapped his highlighter against the corner of the page and added, "Why do you even want to know? You were a lit major in college; you hate biology."

"Well yes, but I also hate to leave you alone in here. I know it bothers you, but I just can't—"

"I'm not gonna take any pills if I'm left alone for a couple hours. Where would I even get them?"

"Don't say that," she said sharply. "Don't say things like that as if you've thought about it."

"I haven't, I just meant…" Kevin stopped and then huffed in exasperation. "No, you know what? I have. Of course I have, and I probably will for a long time. But that doesn't mean I'm actually going to take any."

"Well, that's all the more reason for me to stay here with you—"

"You can't watch me forever!" Kevin cried. "What are you gonna do, go to class with me?"

They stared at each other silently, neither one wanting to back down. After a moment, Mrs. Price relented and buried her face in her hands.

"I don't know," she wailed. "Gosh, I just don't know, and I'm still so worried about what's going to happen come fall, and—oh, this was so much easier when I knew you had doctors and nurses with you twenty-four-seven." She lifted her head and said, "Maybe getting an apartment with Arnold isn't the best idea. It might be better to stay here with us for a year, take some time before being on your own again—"

"Please don't make me stay here," Kevin interjected. When he saw her hurt frown, he quickly added, "It isn't you, I promise. It's just…I need to move on with my life, Mom. I don't want to alter all of my plans because of this. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I promise I'll get help if it becomes an issue. I have my counselor, and I'll see one on campus if I need one more often. They're free."

She was quiet for a minute, crinkling the corners of her magazine absent-mindedly.

"Okay," she finally relented, and Kevin let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Mom," he said. He turned his focus back down to his textbook, but could only read a couple of sentences before he noticed she _**still**_ wasn't going anywhere. "Mom," he complained.

"Kevin," she shot back.

He pursed his lips in thought. This wasn't working; they needed a compromise. "Why don't you ask Katie if she wants to watch one of her princess movies in here?"

That worked for everyone. She wouldn't be watching his every move, and obviously he wouldn't do anything destructive in front of a six-year-old. Wait, no, she was seven now; he'd missed her birthday last semester in the middle of his drug-induced haze. Shit, he'd have to make that up to her.

Mrs. Price nodded, satisfied with that idea. "She's in her room; I'll go get her." She set her magazine on the end table and paused before standing up. "You'll be okay, right?"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Yes. I won't overdose or hurt myself in the thirty seconds it takes to get Katie down here."

"I'm just checking, dear."

"I know, Mom."

* * *

_Three Hours Later_

Connor had just exited Olive Garden when his phone rang. Seeing Kevin's name on his screen, he grinned and hit accept.

"Hi there," he said, heading toward his old Ford Fiesta. "How's home?"

"Connor? Oh my God, Connor, you finally answered." There was a panicky edge to his voice that wiped the smile right off Connor's face. "I've been trying to call you for an hour."

"I just got off work. Late shift." Connor opened up the door and slid inside his car. "What's wrong?"

"I can't do it," Kevin cried. "I'm not gonna be able to pass my finals. I'm not smart enough for these classes anymore; I need to change my major but I don't know what to change it to—"

"Woah, Kevin, stop." Connor started up the car but kept it in park, his attention focused solely on the voice coming from his phone. "Relax and breathe, all right? Can you do that for me?"

"No," Kevin replied. "I can't, because I have to get this done so—"

"Don't worry about your assignments right now. You just got back and you need some time to adjust—"

"I don't _**want**_ time to adjust. I want to finish them so I don't have them hanging over my head."

"Okay," Connor said. "Well, first of all, you're just as smart as you've always been, and changing your major isn't going to help with any of this. Secondly…actually, I don't really have a secondly; just tell me what you're struggling with."

"Everything!" Kevin snapped in frustration. "Just—just everything, Connor. My whole family's acting so damn weird around me, except for Jack and Katie, because Katie's too young to know what's going on, and frankly Jack's always been kind of weird and never really liked me to begin with. Someone's always watching me, and my dad said I have to shave with the bathroom door open tomorrow morning, and they act like I'm gonna fall apart right in front of them. And maybe I will, I don't know. I was studying with Katie, but I just have so much to do and it was too hard, so I said I was going to bed, and now I'm hiding in the garage talking to you because I don't want them to know I can't handle it. Because then they might send me back to the hospital, and I _**really**_ don't want to go back to the hospital."

Connor waited until he knew Kevin was truly finished before he spoke. "That really does sound hard," he replied. "I'm sorry you're dealing with all that. What class were you working on?"

"Microbiology. Well, I _**was**_ working on microbiology, but then I switched to organic chem because I'm really worried about it so—"

"Don't worry about organic chem."

"What? I have to worry about it; if I don't make a hundred on the final I'm gonna get a C—"

"I'm not saying don't worry about it ever. Just don't worry about it right now. Although, honestly, if chemistry really stresses you out this much, then maybe you shouldn't be getting a second minor in it. You love your math classes, just stick with that."

"Well, I'd have to take a lot of the chem classes anyway for the pre-med track. And I like chemistry, it's just…damn, it's just Dr. Brenner. He's a total hard-ass, and he's the department head so he basically gets to be as tough as he wants."

Connor clucked his tongue sympathetically. "What about microbiology? I know you like that class; it's your major. How's your professor there?"

"Dr. Himawari? She's my advisor. I like her."

"Great. Work on that class."

"Really? That's all you've got?"

"That's all I've got, Kevin. You're trying to do everything all at once, and it's weighing you down. Focus on microbiology, and don't think about any other class right now. All you have to do, in this moment, is microbiology. Okay? Then once you've turned everything in for that class and completed the final, move on to the next easiest one. Save chemistry for last, and once you get to it that'll be the only thing on your plate."

Kevin was quiet for a moment, clearly mulling over the advice. "That's easier said than done," he replied. "I _**can't**_ focus on microbiology. It doesn't matter if I like it. I can't do it without the pills."

"Yes, you can. You're Kevin Price, you can do anything, remember?"

"I don't feel like I can do anything. Not anymore."

"Well, your psychiatrist says you can do it. If she went to med school and she thinks you can make it through med school, don't you think that sounds promising?"

"Maybe. She only went to Stanford, though."

Connor snorted. "Oh, well, if she only went to _**Stanford**_ then fuck it."

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Kevin laugh on the other end of the line. "It's not an Ivy League," he said.

"Most doctors around here didn't go to an Ivy League," Connor countered. "And Georgetown isn't one either, for that matter."

"You mean Johns Hopkins? It's still the best internal med program in the country. Also, Stanford's in California, and you can't trust anything from California."

" _ **I'm**_ from California, asshole."

"I thought you were from Idaho?"

"I grew up in Idaho, but I was born in Bakersfield," Connor said. "We didn't move to Pocatello until I was two."

"Wow," Kevin replied dryly. "You must remember so much about it."

"Shut up. Disneyland's in California too, you know."

"Yeah, and Disney World's better."

"Didn't Brynn go to some prep school in California?"

"Brynn went to prep school in hell."

Connor couldn't help laughing at that, and Kevin chuckled as well. They fell silent for a few seconds, and Connor leaned back in his seat.

"How are you doing?" Kevin suddenly asked, and Connor frowned.

"What do you mean, how am I doing?"

"I heard you had to go to the hospital a few days ago for—what was it, alcohol poisoning?"

"I didn't get alcohol poisoning," Connor sighed. He shut off his engine, figuring he probably shouldn't waste any more gas than he already had. "I'm fine now."

"Good, because you really shouldn't be drinking so much—"

"Yes, I know. Don't worry about me; it's not a problem anymore."

Kevin paused. "You're always telling people not to worry about you," he complained. "Are you and Naba still fighting?"

"No, we're okay now. We're great, actually."

"I'm glad to hear it," Kevin replied. "Shit, you said you just got off work, didn't you? You're probably tired, and here I've been keeping you—"

"It's fine, darling. You can talk to me as long as you…" Connor drifted off when he realized exactly what he'd just said. He bit his lip, hoping Kevin hadn't noticed the pet name.

If the silence on the other end was anything to go by, though, he clearly had. "Um," Kevin began after a moment. "Right. I should probably go—"

"Kevin," Connor interjected, face reddening. "Look, I didn't—it was—"

"No, no, I get it. Really though, I have to go before anyone notices I'm not in bed or I'll never get to be alone again. Um, thanks for talking to me. It was nice."

"Anytime," Connor said. "Have a good night."

"You, too. Bye."

The line went dead, and Connor tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and bit back a groan. Well, he'd royally screwed that up.

With another sigh, he revved his car back to life and put the gear in reverse, backing out of his parking spot. Maybe he should just tell Kevin to call his psychiatrist the next time he had a meltdown.

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

Kevin triumphantly closed his test packet and stood up, approaching the desk at the front of the tiny classroom Dr. Brenner had reserved, and handing it over to the professor.

"Here you go," he said. "All finished."

"Excellent," Dr. Brenner replied as he took the papers. "Well, Mr. Price, looks like you've officially completed Organic Chem II. Do you have any other finals to make up?"

"Nope. Yours was the last one."

Dr. Brenner nodded. "I see. Looks like you're officially a junior now."

"Actually, I already was," Kevin said. "I came in with a lot of dual credit. But yeah," he quickly added upon seeing Brenner's unimpressed expression. "I know what you mean. Thanks."

"Right. Well, you're all finished here. Have a good afternoon."

"You too," Kevin started for the door, trying his best to remain positive. He already knew he hadn't earned a hundred on that test, and that a C was very likely at this point. But it would be okay; he'd passed the class, and he'd done it without the pills. Now he could focus on packing so he could move in two days, and—

"Kevin," Dr. Brenner called. Kevin halted and turned around in the doorway.

"I'm glad you're doing better." The professor hesitated briefly before continuing. "And I'm proud of you."

Kevin smiled. "Thank you. That means a lot." Then he stepped out and headed down the hallway, traces of the grin still lingering on his face.

* * *

_The Next Evening_

Connor and Chris were lounging on the sofa—Chris in a tattered t-shirt and sweatpants while Connor still wore his work clothes—when Arnold dropped by with Bailey in tow. He walked right through the front door rather than knocking first.

"Thanks for keeping her here," Arnold said with a grateful nod toward Chris. "Gran's out of town, and I knew my dad would complain about pet hair if I brought her home with me."

Chris shrugged. "Yeah it's no problem, but I—" he paused as Bailey started toward the Thomases' old Pekingese, ears perked in excitement. The other dog, who was lounging in the corner of the room guarding his empty food bowl, immediately began growling.

"Buttons!" Chris snapped. "Stop it. Go to your kennel." Buttons merely continued to growl at Bailey, and Arnold tightened his grip on her leash so she couldn't go any farther.

"Come on, kennel time!" Chris said again. "Ugh, I'm gonna have to carry you, aren't I?"

Connor leapt up before Chris could rise from his comfortable spot. "I'll get him," he said.

"He's gonna bite you. You know how he is when he gets like this."

"He won't bite me; he's used to me now." Connor crouched down by the rumbling dog and reached his hands out. "Come here, Buttons. That's a good boy." The moment he brushed against his fur, Buttons jerked his head around in a split-second motion and snapped his teeth against Connor's fingers.

"Ow! Damn." Connor yanked his hands back and examined the small cut on his knuckle, then looked over at Chris helplessly. "He bit me."

Chris sighed and pulled himself up off the sofa. "What'd I tell you? We've been through this before, Con. Okay, Buttons, you pain in the ass. Let's go." He snatched Buttons up, despite the dog's howling protests, and started for his kennel in the kitchen.

"You can go ahead and unleash her now," Connor told Arnold once Buttons was out of sight. Arnold nodded and unclasped the hook. Once she was free, Bailey stepped up to Connor and began sniffing him with great interest.

"So, as I was saying, Arnold," Chris called, returning to the room with his task complete. "It's no problem having Bailey here, but honestly I'm still confused. Why exactly can't Kevin know about her until tomorrow?"

"Because, it's a surprise. A move-in surprise!"

"You sure it's a good idea to just spring a pet on someone like that?" Connor asked as he gave Bailey a small pat on the head. "Right when they're trying to get settled in their new place? I'm guessing he'll have to pay a pet deposit now, right?"

Arnold faltered. "Oh, crap, I forgot about the pet deposit. Oh well, my folks'll probably pay that if I ask real nicely. And it's totally a good idea! You should see Kevin with Bailey; he loves her a lot." He smiled when Bailey shoved her nose against Connor's shirt, still sniffing away. "Hey, she likes you!"

"She likes the smell of Olive Garden," Connor countered. When Bailey looked up at him with pleading eyes, he added, "I don't have any food for you, sweetie. I'm sorry." After a few more minutes, Bailey gave up on acquiring any tasty treats from him and wandered over to the couch to sit next to Chris.

"Okay, well, my mom's waiting so I've gotta go," Arnold said, opening up the door again and hovering just outside. "You guys're gonna meet us at the apartment tomorrow, right?"

"Sure," Connor replied.

"Awesome. Okay, thanks!"

* * *

_The Next Morning_

"Oh my God, Arnold, it was amazing," Kevin was saying as he unlocked the door to their new apartment for the first time. "I can't believe I got through all that work without Adderall, but I did and my head just feels so clear now, you know?"

"That's awesome, buddy!" Arnold beamed, and together they stepped through the threshold of the now open doorway. It wasn't anything fancy, just a moderate two-bedroom, one-bathroom unit in the same complex near campus where Naba lived. Right now it looked dull, empty, and lonely, but the two of them were confident they could spice it up quickly enough.

"Nice," Arnold said, flopping down on the living room floor. "It looks just like it did when we filled out the application!"

Kevin set his bucket of cleaning supplies down on the kitchen counter. "Shouldn't you go help your dad and Naba unload your bedroom set?"

"I will in a minute. Naba's actually over at her place. She says she's helping Brynn set up her new IKEA desk, but I think she's actually just hiding out until we're done with the hard stuff." Heaving a dramatic sigh, he pushed himself up off the carpet and started for the door. "You coming, bestie?"

Kevin shook his head and fished out some Lysol and a rag. "I'll come out there if you two don't think you can handle it; otherwise I'm gonna get started cleaning."

"Cleaning? We just got here!"

"Exactly. Don't you want to make sure it's clean before we start unpacking dishes and crap?"

"But they did that before we moved in."

Kevin snorted. "They _**said**_ they did it, but it sure doesn't look that way."

"Well that's just 'cause it's old, Kev."

"Whatever. Go help your dad; I'm not putting anything away until I give this place a good thorough cleaning."

Grumbling, Arnold stepped outside and made his way back down the steps. Of course stupid Kevin would want to clean. It wouldn't bother him so much if he didn't know Kevin would still be working once Arnold's stuff was unloaded, and then of course he'd make him pitch in as well.

Sure enough, Kevin had only just finished the kitchen once Arnold's bed, dresser, nightstand, and the couple dozen boxes with everything he owned were safely stored in his room. He only paused for a brief moment to thank Mr. Cunningham and bid him farewell, before he gestured over to the vacuum. "You can take care of the floors while I clean the bathroom," he told Arnold.

"But I don't want to," he whined. "I want to put up my posters and unpack my Xbox."

"I don't care," came Kevin's reply. "You can do that later. Come on, I'm doing all the hard stuff here. All you've gotta do is vacuum." With a playful little grin, he added, "Be happy. I just bought that thing yesterday; you get to break it in!"

"Ooh, lucky me," he replied sarcastically. Kevin just laughed before grabbing the bucket and heading into the bathroom.

Arnold plopped back down on the carpet and glared at the vacuum for a good ten minutes. He hated cleaning; Kevin knew that. Pulling out his phone, he texted Connor.

_Wen u getting hr w/ bailey? kevins making me clean n he needs a distracn_

After a few minutes, his phone buzzed with Connor's reply.

_An hour, maybe. :) Poptarts never registered for fall classes and had to go see his advisor to get that done. :/ Be there as soon as we can! :D_

The grinning emoji was followed by a car, a running person, a dog, and—for some reason—an alligator. Arnold had barely finished the text when his phone buzzed again.

_And learn to spell :P XD_

He rolled his eyes and typed out a response.

_its txt speak. dont tell me wut to do ill learn 2 spell if u lay off the emotes_

After another minute, his phone buzzed twice in a row with two responses. The first featured no less than 64 more alligators, and the second had a single pigeon. Then his phone buzzed again with, oh good, another 64 alligators. He shook his head and stuck it back in his pocket, then turned back to the vacuum.

"I don't like you," he muttered to the offending machine. "I know Kevin likes you, but I don't. Sucks to be you. No, really; you suck. Literally."

He only had a few seconds to chuckle at his own joke before he heard Kevin call, "I don't hear any vacuuming going on out there!"

"Fine!" he snapped back. With one last grumble, he pulled himself up and began unwinding the cord. To keep his spirits up, he continued chatting under his breath without much thought to what he was saying.

"Hey there, little vacuum, what's your name?" Taking his voice up a notch, he squeaked out a reply: " _Bissell_. Mmm, Bissell, huh? That's a sexy name for a vacuum—"

"Arnold?"

Arnold jumped slightly and looked up to see Kevin standing in the living room entryway, toilet brush in hand and his head tilted slightly. "Whatcha doing?" he asked, trying really hard to keep the grin off his face.

"Oh, um, y'know," Arnold shrugged, feeling his face redden. "Just sorta playing around."

"Oh, yeah?" Kevin said, starting to snicker. "Does Naba know you're having these, um, feelings for Bissell over there?'

"Shut up. I wasn't actually—"

"No no, I get it; she's one fine lady. I got her on sale, too. Hot, right?"

"Okay, doucheface." Kevin was cracking up now. With a mischievous smile of his own, Arnold plucked one of the grimy used rags out of the kitchen sink and threw it right in Kevin's face. "Take yo' nasty rag back."

The grin had slipped off Kevin's face as soon as he'd been hit. "Ew!" he shrieked, bending down and gingerly picking up the very corner with his thumb and forefinger. "That's the one with the mystery goo from the cabinet under the sink. Arnold, you asshole."

"Serves you right. Now get back to your cleaning and leave me and Bissell in peace."

They worked in silence for far longer than Arnold would've liked, until finally, Kevin deemed the place up to his cleanliness standards and said they could begin unloading boxes from his car.

"When's your furniture getting here?" Arnold asked as they traipsed through the parking lot.

"Later. My Uncle Jeff and Aunt Mary-Lynn just got a new couch and said I could have their old one. Jeff's got a truck, too, so he said he'd help out. He's driving it up to my parents' house from Sandy, and then he and my dad are gonna load up the rest of the furniture and meet us here. I've just got to get the rest of my boxes. That'll take a few trips."

"Huh. Well that's nice of him to help."

"Yeah. He and Mary-Lynn are cool. They've probably been the nicest of all my extended family since the whole Uganda thing." Kevin opened up his car door and dug a bottle of water out of the cup holder, then took a huge swig and promptly grimaced. "Ugh, that's warm."

Arnold was about to ask him what exactly he'd expected in August, but was distracted by Connor's car pulling up next to Kevin's. "About time!" Arnold exclaimed as he and Chris stepped out.

"Sorry," Connor said, opening up one of the doors to the backseat. "Like I said, we got held up."

"I didn't even know you two were coming," Kevin said, stepping around to meet them with a box of plastic kitchen utensils in hand. "Wanna see the place? I just got it all—Bailey!"

He hastily dropped the box and rushed forward when he saw the dog hopping out of Connor's car, tail wagging furiously as she pulled against the leash in Connor's hand. "Oh my God, what're you doing here? Wait…" Kevin's eyes widened in comprehension as he focused on the red Christmas bow that had been haphazardly stuck on her head. "Is she…"

"Yep." Arnold replied with a huge grin on his face. "Happy move-in day, best friend."

"Really?" Kevin bounced up and down a little in excitement when Connor handed him the leash. "She's mine now? For real? Are you serious?"

"Totally serious. My grandma couldn't take care of her anymore. She was gonna have the shelter find her a new home, but I think you two are a good fit for each other."

Kevin let out a squeal and dropped down to her level, hugging her tightly. "Oh my God, Arnold, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! This the best thing that's ever happened to me; thank you _**so much**_!" He pulled back and pet her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Did you hear that, Bailey? You're my dog, now! You're my puppy. My Bailey-Puppy!"

She reached forward to lick his face, and he laughed. "Aww, she's giving me kisses," he laughed. "Connor, Poptarts, come look at my new dog! See how cute she is?"

"We've seen her," Chris said, leaning back against the wall. "We brought her over, remember?"

"Okay, Mr. Grumpy-Pants," Kevin replied, undeterred. "Connor! Look at her; just _**look**_ at her."

Connor chuckled and crouched down, giving her a few pats on the back. "She's sweet," he said.

"Isn't she, like, the best dog you've ever seen? Don't you just want to take her home with you forever and ever?"

"She's a cutie," Connor agreed. "And very well-behaved. Honestly, I'm more of a cat person, though."

Kevin froze, giving him a look of disdain. "What?"

"It's not that I don't like dogs; I like them fine. I just like cats more."

Kevin was squinting at Connor as if he'd seen him in a new light, one he didn't quite care for. "Is that so?" he deadpanned.

"How have you never caught on to this?" Chris cut in. "Everyone knows Connor's a cat person. The McKinleys have about five of them, and he's—"

"Not _**five**_ cats." Connor rolled his eyes. "We—well, they—only have four cats. Francine, Catti, Bobtail, and Tiger."

"Oh, sorry, my bad," Chris drawled sarcastically. " _ **Four**_. Like that makes it better. Anyhow, he had a ton of cats, and he's gonna grow up to be a crazy cat lady with a bunch of his own, and then he'll knit them all sweaters."

Connor grinned up at him. "Awww," he said. "Cats in sweaters!"

Chris gave Kevin a knowing look. "See what I mean?"

Kevin just shook his head, running his hand along Bailey's fur. "Whatever. I don't get how you can possibly like cats more, especially when you're standing in front of the best dog to ever dog. My grandparents have a cat, and that thing's possessed by the devil."

"They usually are. That's what makes them interesting, though," Connor pointed out.

"If you say so." Kevin stood up and smiled down at Bailey. "Come on, girl! Let's go check out your new home."

He gripped the leash a little tighter and led her away, the boxes in his car totally forgotten. Arnold watched him happily.

This was gonna be a great year, he could tell.


	34. A Glass of Drano to Take the Edge Off

_**Junior Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 34: A Glass of Drano to Take the Edge Off**

_Warning: Blood, gore, dream suicide sequence_

Sharing an apartment with Kevin, Arnold quickly decided, was _**awesome**_.

Sure, there were a few things about his best friend that could be a pain. He was a stickler for cleanliness, he hogged the bathroom while getting ready in the mornings, and he never participated in Arnold's impromptu dance parties. But those were minor inconveniences, since having their own place meant they also got to stay up late with Netflix marathons and could pretty much do anything else they wanted. But most importantly, Kevin basically cooked all his meals now.

Arnold had known since they were in Uganda that Kevin loved to cook, and he also knew he was pretty great at it. But supplies had been pretty limited back then, and now that he had his own kitchen and several grocery stores at his disposal, Kevin was able to show off just how amazing he really was. Arnold had never thought he'd find a better cook than his mother, but a few of the dishes Kevin had made this week—like his spaghetti, the buttered garlic mashed potatoes, and Arnold's favorite, chicken tacos with cheesy nachos and refried beans—proved him wrong in that regard.

Therefore, when Kevin handed him a plate late on the last morning of the summer with a large, fluffy Belgian waffle covered in butter and syrup, Arnold almost drooled in anticipation.

"Thanks, best friend. It looks awesome!" he said. Kevin smiled proudly at the compliment and took a seat across from him with his own plate. Bailey quickly approached, sitting obediently and staring at him with big hopeful eyes, and Kevin pointedly ignored her begging.

"My mom gave me that recipe," he said. "I think mine are better, though; hers need a little more flour. Don't tell her I said that."

Arnold took one huge bite. "Mmmm," he said, nodding appreciatively. "Tasty. You excited for tomorrow? First day back!"

Kevin was quiet as he slowly cut up his waffle. "I guess," he finally replied after he was finished, spearing his first bite on his fork. There wasn't much enthusiasm in his eyes as he spoke.

Arnold shoved one bite after another in his mouth. "You don't want to go back?"

"I do. Honestly, I'm starting to get a little bored. I just—well, it's a lot of work." When Bailey let out a little whine, he sighed and twisted over to face her. "No, Bailey," he said firmly. "You can't have people food; I don't want you to die. Go eat your kibble."

Bailey didn't budge. In all fairness, Arnold figured that if he were a dog, he wouldn't go for boring kibble if there were tasty waffles in front of him, either.

"It's for your own good," Kevin persisted. "And you're not getting any other treats today, because you peed on the carpet and I'm mad at you. Even though I still love you."

"Just leave her be," Arnold said. "You know she can't actually understand you, right? So anyhow, what were you saying about school?"

"Oh, that." Kevin turned back to his plate. "Never mind; it's nothing, really."

"Are you worried you're gonna take the pills again?"

Kevin paused, his next bite halfway to his mouth. "No," he said, lowering his fork. "I know I won't; I'm done with that." There was a fierce determination in his tone as he spoke, and Arnold felt a smile creep up on his lips.

"But I just…" Kevin leaned back a little, crossing his arms and clearly choosing his words carefully. "Ugh, I don't want to, um, to _**want**_ them. I feel like I want them sometimes right now; imagine how bad it's gonna be when I'm back in school. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it makes sense. But you're gonna get through it. Just like you did with your makeup stuff this summer."

Kevin sighed. "I guess so. I checked my transcript this morning, and my grades are up now."

"Oh yeah? About darn time! How'd you do?"

Kevin hesitated, staring dully at his plate. "Um, I got all Bs, ex—"

"That's awesome!" Arnold cried, cutting Kevin off. At Kevin's angry glare, he quickly wilted. "I'm sorry, go on."

"I was saying," Kevin snapped. "That I got all Bs, except for chem. I got a C there."

"Oh." That was disappointing. Arnold knew how much he'd agonized about that class. "It'll be okay, buddy. I think Connor got a C in his chem class, too."

"Okay, but no one's gonna check Connor's science grades when he goes to audition," Kevin responded blunty.

"That's true. Well, maybe Howard won't care."

Kevin frowned, puzzled. "Howard who?" he asked.

"You know. Your school."

"Johns Hopkins? Of course they'll—"

"Who's John Hopkins? Does he run Howard?"

"Oh my God, never mind," Kevin huffed in exasperation. "The point is, I got a C. I totally saw it coming, but now it's official. I have a C on my transcript, and who knows whether I'll ever be able to go to my dream school."

Arnold finished off his last bite and pushed his plate aside, leaning forward a little. Kevin needed to hear something. It probably wouldn't stick, but he still needed to hear it.

He took a deep breath and then spoke. "I had a physical last month while you were in rehab," he said.

Kevin squinted at him in bewilderment, and when Arnold didn't continue, he simply rolled his eyes. "Well, good for you."

"I wasn't done," Arnold quickly said. "That was a pause for effect. I had a physical last month, and I asked my doctor what he thought of the fancy medical schools. Wanna know what he said? The key to becoming a doctor? Go wherever you're accepted. Go wherever you're accepted, and as long as you do well and you're determined and stuff, you'll find a job. So you _**will**_ become a doctor, Kevin. One C's not gonna stop you. Which is exactly what I thought, but it's even better coming from a real live doctor."

"As opposed to a real dead doctor?"

"Well, a dead doctor wouldn't even be able to talk, Kev."

Kevin let out a short laugh. Then he leaned forward and propped his elbows up on the table, running a hand through his hair.

"I know I don't _**have**_ to go to Johns Hopkins," he admitted. "But damn, I really want to. You know how much it's gonna suck if they reject me?"

"So? You're gonna be totally awesome in life," Arnold assured him. "Whether you go there or not."

Kevin smiled sadly. "Thanks, Arn," he said.

"No problem, pal. Um," he gestured to the barely eaten waffle Kevin still had on his plate. "So, are you gonna eat that?"

Kevin narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I'm gonna eat that," he snapped.

"Then can you make me another one?"

Kevin continued scowling as he stood up, but Arnold knew he wasn't actually mad. "You're lucky I made extra batter," he grumbled as he stepped back over to the waffle iron.

* * *

_That Afternoon_

"Well, that was it. My last resident check in," Connor strode back into his room and dropped his clipboard on the desk, facing Naba with a bright smile. "Can you believe they're all here and it's not even four? That definitely didn't happen last year."

"Maybe you have a better group this year," she replied. She was stretched out on his bed, surveying his room with casual interest. "Do you like your new building? The suites are definitely nicer than the floor you had last year."

Connor shrugged and flopped down beside her. "I'm fine with either," he said. "It's hard to create a good community environment in this hall; people tend to close themselves off in their rooms. I do like having a co-ed floor, though. The girls appreciate my floor decs more. The custodians, not so much."

Naba laughed. "You might want to cut back on the glitter before they kill you," she said, and Connor smiled a little sheepishly.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. "Hey, when do you get to apply for the nursing program?"

"Next semester, I believe. I have to complete Anatomy and Physiology first this fall. Also math. When does Kevin start working as a tutor?"

"Tomorrow, I think, but he'll have to be trained first. I'm sure he'd help you outside of work if you ask him, though."

"Yes, but he might as well be paid for it. I plan to use him a lot, after all. I really want to do well in this class so I can get started on the nursing classes. It's a little discouraging, actually. I had hoped I would be able to graduate with the rest of you since I'm only getting an associate's, but it might take me an extra semester."

"Don't feel bad about that; the nursing program is super structured. It happens all the time."

Naba nodded. "I know. The timeline issue is only a tiny disappointment. My main goal is to work hard so I can even be accepted to the program in the first place." She sat up a little to face him with a tongue-in-cheek grin. "Will you come back from Broadway to see me graduate?"

Connor actually laughed out loud at that. "I can guarantee you I won't be on Broadway one semester after graduation," he said.

"You might! Okay, maybe Off-Broadway, then."

"I don't think I'll be there by then, either. You know it's just as competitive as Broadway, right?"

"Not really. Honestly, I'm not even sure what Off-Broadway is. Just promise me that, no matter what you're doing or where you live, your butt will be back here in a seat for my commencement ceremony."

He stared up into her dark eyes, so sincere and hopeful. "Oh, Naba, of course I will," he said. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

"Good," she said, lowering herself back down to his side. "I am holding you to it. And speaking of Broadway, when am I going to see you on stage again this year?"

"I don't really know yet," he replied. "Hopefully in the first production of the season. It's _Urinetown_ , and auditions are this week so wish me luck."

"They're going to love you," she said. "You are a great actor, and you have an amazing range. What voice part are you supposed to be again?"

"High baritone."

"Right. That is the best part."

"Is it?" Connor raised an eyebrow. "What criteria did you use to decide that?"

"My own judgement."

Connor chuckled, and Naba let out a little giggle of her own. Then she snuggled up to him and became very quiet, a pensive expression on her face. After a few minutes passed, Connor grew concerned.

"Hey," he said, giving her a little pat on the shoulder. "What's wrong?"

She was quiet for a moment longer, and then sighed. "Can talk to you about something?"

"Of course," Connor replied without hesitation. "You can talk to me about anything, dear."

She took a deep breath, bracing herself before stating, "Arnold and I have not had sex yet."

Connor blinked. He'd imagined whatever she might want to tell him had something to do with Arnold, but the thought that she'd want to bring _**that**_ up somehow hadn't crossed his mind.

"Well," he began. "I figured you hadn't. I assume you would've told me if you had. But, I mean, I guess I really don't see the problem? You two don't have to have sex if you aren't ready."

"No, that's the thing, I _**am**_ ready," she persisted. "I want to. But he has not said anything about it. I was fine with it for a while, and I suppose I still am. But we have been together for a long time, and I can't help but wonder…do you think he doesn't like me that way? Er, you know, as a woman?"

"Arnold loves you, Naba."

"I know he loves me romantically, but what if he isn't…um, really into me? I am not like some of the girls here, who have been able to use creams and go the dentist since they were young. My skin and teeth are not flawless. So, well, I look at someone like Brynn, for example, who's just stunning, and then I look in the mirror and—"

"Naba, most people don't have perfect skin and teeth. I know I don't. Either way, there's nothing wrong with how you look." Connor sat up and met her eyes. "You're beautiful, okay? Arnold thinks you're the most perfect person on the planet, so don't ever worry about that. You're both completely infatuated with each other; it's adorable and sickening and I'm totally jealous."

He grinned and added, "And honestly, this _**is**_ Arnold we're talking about. I'm ninety-nine percent sure he has no idea how to approach this issue. If you want to get in his pants, you're gonna have to be the one to bring it up."

Naba giggled. "How do I even do that, though? It's so awkward and embarrassing."

"Don't be embarrassed. I'm sure he's been thinking about it, too. I mean, okay, it's gonna be a little awkward, I'll give you that. But you'll just have to power through. If you feel like you want to mention it, then go for it. Don't keep your feelings locked up."

"That's quite the one-eighty from when I first met you, Mr. Turn It Off," Naba said.

"Don't I know it." Connor sighed and flopped back down, gazing up at the ceiling. "God, that seems like a lifetime ago. So much has changed." After a moment, a mischievous smirk spread across his face. "Do you need a condom?" he asked.

She snorted. "No."

"Good, because I think I'm actually out."

"Slut," she teased.

"Damn right. At least I'm a safe slut," Connor shot back. "You better get one from somewhere, though. I guarantee you Arnold won't have any, and I'm not planning your baby shower if you get pregnant."

"I will. But we both know that's an empty threat. You would definitely plan my baby shower."

"Yeah, yeah."

They both laughed a little and settled into a comfortable silence, Naba resting her head on Connor's shoulder while Connor ran his hand up and down along her arm.

"What was your first time like?" she asked quietly after a few minutes. "You were with that boy your freshman year, right?"

"Mmhm. Matt Warrenton. It was nice; I was sort of nervous but he was a total sweetheart about it. Obviously it didn't work out for us in the long run, but I enjoyed it." Connor glanced back over at her, adding, "You won't have that problem because you both know you're in it for the long haul."

"I am just worried I won't know what I'm doing," she admitted.

"Honestly? You really won't. But you'll figure it out. Luckily, he won't know what he's doing, either."

She frowned and gave him a dismayed glance. "That's not lucky," she said. "We are both going to fucking suck at this."

Connor almost choked on his own spit, and immediately brought a hand up to his mouth to stifle the snickers bubbling out his lips. "Oh my god, you totally will," he said. "You two are gonna be so…" he drifted off as the image that flashed through his mind made him cringe. "Ew, I just pictured the two of you getting it on. My best friend and Arnold Cunningham, ugh. Gross."

"Hey!" she snapped, jerking away. Then she yanked the pillow out from under his head and playfully smacked him across the face with it. "I will have you know that Arnold is a very attractive man."

"That he is," Connor teased. He pulled the pillow out of her attacking hands and then tossed it across the room out of her reach. "Maybe he'll dress you up in one of those sexy Leia costumes. Think we can get your hair in those buns?"

"You shut your mouth." She glared at him, and Connor could tell she was trying really, really hard not to laugh. "And don't you dare give him any ideas."

" _Oh, Prophet Cunningham_ ," he drawled, raising his voice in a poor imitation of hers. " _Oh_ , _give it to me, baby. I want your big, hard lightsaber in my—_ "

"Oh my God, _**shut up**_!"

* * *

_That Night_

_Arnold really needed to use the bathroom. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem; normally he would just go. Except he couldn't go, because it appeared there was no longer a bathroom in the apartment._

_He stood there in the little hallway area, staring dumbly at the place between the two bedrooms where the bathroom door once sat. Now there was just a wall with a foggy little window at about eye level. What could that possibly look out toward?_

_He stepped up to the glass and wiped away the condensation, only to be greeted with a view of the perfectly intact bathroom he was so familiar with by now. At the sight before him, he didn't stop to think about why exactly the door had been replaced by a wall, or how he could possibly ever get to the toilet he needed to desperately. No, all he cared about was the fact that Kevin was inside._

_Arnold watched in horror as his friend lay sprawled across the floor with all of his textbooks spread out before him, clutching the edge of the toilet seat and sobbing. He was holding a bottle of Drano, and perched neatly by his side was a delicate, pristine wine glass._

" _Kevin," Arnold cried, banging his fist hard against the window. "Kevin, stop. Look at me."_

_Kevin gave no indication whatsoever that he'd even heard him; rather, he clutched the bottle tighter in his hands and sobbed even harder._

" _Kevin!" Arnold continued banging incessantly against the window. "Please, just stop! I know it's hard, but let me help you! Don't drink that, Kev, please don't."_

_Kevin finally paused for one brief moment then, eyes flitting over in Arnold's direction as he let out a little hiccup. His eyes never actually met Arnold's, however; in fact he never even looked at the window. Could he actually see it?_

" _Buddy," Arnold persisted, moving his pounding fist over to the wall. "That's good; come on, let me help you."_

_Kevin sniffled and stared down at the glass; hands trembling._

" _No, Kevin, don't!"_

_He lifted the bottle up over the glass and let the viscous teal liquid slowly fill it to the brim._

" _Kevin!" Arnold shrieked, positively panicking. Arnold might have hated cleaning with a passion, but he was smart enough to know that anything designed to eat away drain clogs would probably burn a hole straight through Kevin's esophagus. He had to do something, right now._

_He spun around, looking for anything strong enough to break the glass, maybe even bust through the wall—only to find himself standing in an empty apartment. Where did all their stuff go?_

" _No," he breathed. "No, no, no. Kevin!" He frantically turned back to see Kevin raising the glass to his lips. "Bestie, stop—KEVIN!"_

_He threw all his weight against the wall to no avail as Kevin swiftly downed the liquid—well, what little he could manage before sputtering and dropping the glass with half its contents still inside. Arnold watched, speechless in horror, as the drain cleaner oozed across the pages of his biology book and Kevin retched into the toilet, gagging and gasping._

_Oh, God. He needed a doctor, he needed an ambulance right now…where the hell was Arnold's phone? He let out a little squeak when Kevin began choking out blood. He gripped his stomach and groaned in pain as he continued hurling up the thick, dark blood along with what might've possibly been chunks of his own stomach._

" _Kevin," Arnold wailed helplessly. There was nothing he could do now; as much as he hated to admit it, there was no miracle that could save his friend now. All he could do was pound fruitlessly against this wall, crying as he watched blood pour from Kevin's mouth, his nose, and—dear God, even his eyes—_

Arnold woke at about 2:12 in the morning, covered in sweat and desperately needing to pee.

He stumbled out of bed and hurried toward the bathroom, limbs shaking the entire time. _Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh—no, stop, it was just a dream_. When he finished his business, he threw open the bottom cabinet doors and fished around in search of the Drano. There wasn't any. _Crap, no, I'm too late—Kevin!_ He forced himself to pause and take a shaky breath. There was no need to panic. Kevin wasn't dead, and he wasn't _**going**_ to die, either. He was in a much better state of mind now, and he was safe and sound in his room, probably fast asleep.

Maybe it would help if Arnold just checked in on him real quick.

Slowly, carefully, he crept over to Kevin's room and quietly pushed the door open. Everything was fine, just as he had hoped, and he couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him. Kevin was curled up under the covers snoring softly as usual, and Bailey dozed on the bed beside him, though she had immediately jerked awake when Arnold entered and was now looking up at him curiously.

Arnold stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "Bailey," he whispered, moving over to the bed. "Scootch."

He gave her a little shove, and she quickly scooted down toward the end of the bed and made herself comfortable near Kevin's feet. Arnold lifted up the covers and tucked himself in beside his friend. Kevin murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, and for just a moment, Arnold thought he had woken him. "Bestie?" he whispered.

Kevin shifted slightly, mumbling a little more. Arnold caught the words "Epcot" and "Connor" somewhere in the jumble, and then Kevin let out a little sigh and simply snoozed on.

Arnold hugged his pillow and shut his eyes, listening to the sound of Kevin breathing as he tried to will himself back to sleep. It was fine. His friend was fine. Everything would be fine.

* * *

_The Next Morning_

Seven-thirty AM arrived all too soon, and when Kevin's phone alarm blared from the nightstand beside him, Arnold couldn't understand for the life of him just _**why**_ his friend had chosen such an obnoxious sound to wake him up.

Arnold felt a flurry of movement hear his feet as Bailey leapt off the bed, hurrying toward Kevin and hopping a little in anticipation of her morning walk. He watched as Kevin reached over and smacked at the phone aimlessly until it finally shut off, then opened up his eyes and squinted at Arnold in confusion.

"Morning," Kevin said sleepily. He ignored Bailey's nudging and kept his head rested on the pillow, eyes fluttering shut once more.

"Morning, best friend," Arnold replied, standing up and stretching. After a few more seconds, Bailey became thoroughly fed up with Kevin's laziness and combined her touches with little yips.

"Ugh, fine. Calm down," Kevin groaned, slowly pulling himself up. He started toward his dresser and added, "So…why were you in my bed, Arn?"

"Oh, well…" _I'm worried you won't be able to handle your classes and had a nightmare you tried to kill yourself again._ Arnold knew just how well Kevin would probably take to that. "I had bad dreams."

Kevin stripped down to his boxers and shook his head. "This is why I've told you not to watch that weird British show late at night."

"Hey, Doctor Who's only scary sometimes."

"Uh huh." Kevin quickly threw on a t-shirt, sweatpants, and a pair of sneakers, then picked up Bailey's leash. "Walk time!" he chirped as she stepped forward to let him clip it on her collar.

Arnold watched as the two made their way through the living room, Bailey bouncing along in excitement. "Kevin," he called just as they reached the door.

Kevin paused. "Yeah?"

"Um, when's your first counseling appointment?"

"This afternoon." Okay, good; that was soon. "Why?"

Crap. Arnold thought quick. "I need Cheez-Its. Also, I've gotta buy Naba a birthday gift." Well, how about that? He pulled this off without lying; he really did need those things.

Kevin shrugged and unlocked the door. "See if someone else can take you," he said as he pulled it open.

"I will. Oh, and Kevin?" Just one more tiny, tiny thing. "Do we have any Drano?"

Kevin frowned. "No," he said slowly. "The lease says we can't use it; it actually damages the pipes. Why, is one of the drains clogged?"

"Um, yes." Okay, truth record ruined.

"Which one? I haven't noticed anything."

"Well, um, maybe not exactly." Crap. "Just, you know, it probably will be, right? In the future. With, um, I don't know—oh, pubes and stuff! Yeah, darn those pubes, am I right, buddy?"

He really needed to get better at this; the look Kevin was giving him now made him want to hide away in some remote cave for the rest of his life.

"Don't worry about it," Kevin replied. "I'll call maintenance if anything comes up." When Bailey tugged impatiently on her leash, he added, "We'll be back in twenty. Make sure you're done with the shower by then; I'll need it."

He started to shut the door but then suddenly pushed it back open as if he'd just remembered something. When Arnold saw the smirk on his lips, he knew exactly what was coming.

"Just don't clog the drain with pubes while you're in there, okay, pal?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Arnold grumbled. "Go take your dumb old dog for her dumb old walk."

* * *

_Later That Afternoon_

"Thanks for taking me," Arnold told Connor as they pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot.

"No problem," Connor replied, navigating into the first available spot. "I have a few things to pick up anyway."

"Cool." He saw Arnold nod from the corner of his eye as he shut off the engine. They both climbed out of the car and started toward the store.

"Wanna know something funny?" Arnold asked. "I hardly ever went to Wal-Mart before college. My parents don't like going there."

"Yes, well, your parents make a lot more money than I do," Connor replied coolly.

Arnold shrugged with an almost solemn understanding. "That's true," he said. "Kevin grew up going to Costco, did you know that? But he says we don't have room for fifty rolls of toilet paper in our apartment, so he makes us go to Wal-Mart unless one of the other stores has stuff on sale. But I don't care either way, as long we've got stuff to make some tasty treats!"

He grabbed a basket and promptly rushed toward a display of Cheez-Its conveniently sitting near the front of the store. Connor grabbed a basket of his own and watched him select three different flavors.

"Awesome," Arnold said, clearly satisfied with his choices. "Now just gotta get one more thing."

With that, he hurried off toward the other end of the store. Connor followed him until he reached the pharmacy area, then stopped to grab a bottle of multivitamins and a box of condoms. He gazed at that shelf a little while longer as he contemplated what Naba had told him yesterday.

He glanced in the direction Arnold had headed, and then shook his head. No way, he decided. He was _**not**_ gonna have the sex talk with Arnold Cunningham, of all people.

He browsed along the next few aisles, picking up a couple other toiletries. As he threw a can of shave gel into his basket, Arnold came back into view and almost bumped right into him.

"Oh, there you are, Connor!" he said. "I'm all done." Connor glanced over at the basket clutched in his hands, and his eyebrows shot up at the sight of four large boxes of Tampax.

"Arnold, why exactly are you buying all of those?"

"Oh, these?" He waved a hand dismissively. "They're for Naba's birthday."

Dear Lord, surely he was joking. Right? When Arnold only continued staring innocently at him, Connor let out a little cough. "Are you really buying her, uh—" He glanced at the capacity of each box and quickly did the math. "One hundred forty-four tampons for her birthday?"

"Yeah! Turns out she never liked any of my gifts, but she didn't say anything about it until Valentine's this year. I got her Magic: The Gathering cards, and she said it was sweet but that in the future she wanted stuff she'd actually use. So I thought about it: what's something she'll definitely, for sure use?" He gestured proudly at his gift. "Tampons! Good idea, right?"

Connor simply stood there with his mouth open in shock. "Well," he began lamely after a moment. "Your intentions are good, I suppose."

"Duh, they're super good." Arnold squinted at Connor's dumbfounded expression. "Do you not like it?"

"Honestly, I just don't think—"

"Oh, man, what's wrong with it!? She uses tampons; she totally does!"

"I know, but…okay, for starters, she prefers Kotex."

"Really? Oh, right, so that's what the problem is! Cool. Wait, how do you know?" Before Connor could point out that he and Naba had spent enough time at each other's places to have their bathroom cabinets memorized by now, Arnold shook his head and said, "Nah, never mind. I'll just go switch these out. Thanks for the heads-up."

He turned around and headed back into the other aisle, his voice loud enough to carry. "Man," he laughed. "That was close! Could you imagine if I got her the wrong tampons? How embarrassing would _**that**_ have been? Oh, hey, there's a lot of Kotex here. Which ones?"

When Connor didn't immediately respond, he shouted, "Connor! Did you hear me? Which tampons do I need? Help me, Connor!"

Several people were now shooting uncomfortable glances in Connor's direction. "I think he's looking for you," one old lady snapped.

"Thanks," Connor muttered dryly before hurrying over to meet his friend. "Arnold, stop shouting," he said. "And please, for the love of God, do _**not**_ buy Naba tampons for her birthday."

Arnold faltered. He'd set his basket on the floor, and his arms were full of several different varieties of Kotex. "But she uses them," he said.

"That doesn't mean she wants them as a gift. It would be like her getting you toothpaste. You use it, but would you really want it for your birthday?"

Arnold quietly mulled this over as he returned the boxes to the shelf. "I guess not," he said. "But then what am I supposed to get her?" He looked over at Connor hopefully. "What're you getting her?"

"I'm giving her a book she's been wanting and a scrapbook I made of her first semester," Connor replied. "See? All you need to think about are the things she likes and whatever means something special between the two of you."

"Hmm…" Arnold gazed up at the ceiling in thought. "Maybe I should get her a gift card to Buffalo Wild Wings."

Connor frowned. "Has she ever even mentioned Buffalo Wild Wings?"

"No, but who _**doesn't**_ like Buffalo Wild Wings?"

Connor shook his head, exasperated. "Don't get her a gift card, either," he admonished.

"Why not? You liked that Target gift card Kevin got you."

"Maybe, but Kevin isn't my boyfriend." _Unfortunately_. Connor suppressed that thought and added, "He's also lazy when it comes to gift-giving. You can do better than that. Come on, let's go pay, and then I'm gonna help you find the perfect present."

He started out toward the main aisle, Arnold scurrying after him.

"Awesome," he said. "So where we going?"

"Well," Connor began. "First we're gonna go to Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory so you can get her a few candy bars—"

"Oh, can we each get one for ourselves, too!?"

"Of course. And then we're going to the mall so you can get…okay, honestly, I don't know yet. But we'll walk around until I find it."

"But that's gonna take forever," Arnold whined.

"Tough luck, buddy."

* * *

Kevin settled down stiffly on the large leather sofa and gave the woman in front of him a small, nervous smile. _Latoya Moore_ , the card he'd been given had read. _Licensed Professional Counselor_. She looked a somewhat older than Dr. Lindbergh, maybe in her early 50s as opposed to Lindbergh's 40s. She was also more relaxed, wearing a floral shirt with khakis and a pair of Toms and leaning back in her leather armchair, giving Kevin a kind, appraising look. She reminded him of Kimbay, in a way. Kevin noticed that, while there were several abstract paintings on the walls in the warm and inviting office, he didn't see any degrees on display.

"Are you a doctor?" he asked.

"No," she replied gently. "I'm a counselor."

"I know that. What I meant was, do you have your doctorate?"

She made a quick note on the memo pad in her lap. "I don't. I have my Master's from the U."

"Why don't you have it up anywhere?"

"Because I don't want the focus to be on me. Let's talk about you, Kevin," she said. "What's on your mind?"

Kevin faltered, shifting a little in his seat. What a loaded question. "I…I'm not really sure what you want me to say, Ms. Moore," he confessed, clasping his hands on his knees and crossing one leg over the other.

"Call me Latoya," she said. "Let's start with the basics. How was your day?"

"It was fine. I started my new job as a math tutor. I think I'll like it. And I got my twelve-page Genetics syllabus and only freaked out a little."

"Excellent news." The smile Latoya gave him was so genuine that he couldn't help but beam proudly as well. "What brought you here?"

Well, that destroyed the mood a bit. "I tried to kill myself last semester." Kevin's voice was flat and slightly hesitant. He stared down at the coffee table, not wanting to meet her eyes. "I'm depressed, anxious, and I have a problem with Adderall."

Latoya quickly scribbled something else down on her notepad. "Carole says you're on Zoloft. How is that?"

"Carole?" Kevin frowned. "Who—oh, you mean Dr. Lindbergh. Right, Carole Lindbergh. Um, it's fine. I think it helps."

"That's good to hear. When did all this start?"

"About a year ago. I…um…I got a B the semester before in my physics class." Kevin looked up at her and quickly added, "I know that's kind of dumb, but I really wanted an A. You see, I want to go to Johns Hopkins for med school, and it's a really selective program."

"You put a lot of pressure on yourself." Kevin wasn't sure whether it was a statement or a question, so he simply shrugged. Latoya pressed on, "What else?"

"Well, Dr. Lindbergh and I used to talk about how my life is still in chaos after leaving the Mormon Church, and I've been kind of messed up by my family."

"Haven't we all," Latoya said, smiling wryly. "Tell me about your family."

"We're pretty common. Well, common for Latter-day Saints, at least." Kevin replied. "My dad's an actuary; my mom's a housewife. There's six of us kids. I'm the oldest, and then there's Jack, Deb, Andy, Scott, and Katie. Deb and Andy are twins."

"And how would you say they've messed you up?"

Kevin chewed his bottom lip, trying to find the right words. "My dad's really strict," he said. He's always pushed all of us, but especially me. Maybe it's because I was so precocious as a child, but he latched onto the idea of having this perfect son and never let go. He's always saying he's trying to make me better for Heavenly Father."

"It must be hard for you."

"Yes. Oh my God, it's exhausting," Kevin let himself relax a little as he spoke. "Even before I left the church. When I took the ACT, I didn't have time to go back and check all my answers. Then I got my score; I saw that I made a 34 and cried because it wasn't a perfect 36. And, I mean, a 34's amazing. Dad said he was proud, but still, I just knew he was hoping I'd do better. The only other sibling that's matched my achievement level is Deb. He's never expected as much out of her, though, because he can be kind of a sexist asshole. But now that I'm out of the church, she's daddy's little angel." He ended that statement with an eye roll.

"Grades and test scores are very important to you. You bring them up a lot." Latoya leaned forward a little as she spoke. "You want recognition and validation for your efforts."

"Doesn't everyone?" Kevin asked. "Nobody gives you a job offer or a college acceptance letter because you tried. All they care about it whether you succeeded or not."

"And success means perfection to you."

Kevin blinked. "Not necessarily."

"You received a stellar ACT score and an above-average grade in your physics class. Many would call that success, but you were disappointed in both because they weren't perfect scores. It sounds to me like you don't believe you've succeeded unless you're the absolute best."

"Dr. Lindbergh used to say that, too," Kevin sighed. "But the thing is, I _**have**_ to be the best. It's not a matter of personal preference, it's just the way it is. That's what my dad wants, and that's what Johns Hopkins wants. You know how many people apply there with 4.0 GPAs and killer résumés? How will I ever compete with them if I don't measure up?"

"You said you wanted to go there for medical school, correct?"

"Right. I want to be a doctor."

"Have you always wanted to be a doctor?"

"Not really. Before my mission I always planned to go to BYU, but I wasn't sure what I'd study. Something business-related like my dad, I figured. But then I realized how much I love helping people, and I've always loved science and math, so I decided med school was the way to go."

"Med school at Johns Hopkins, specifically."

"Well, they're one of the best in the nation. Why wouldn't I want to go there?"

Latoya smiled. "Of course. One could argue it's perfect. Tell me more about why you want to be a doctor."

"I already told you; I like helping people."

"I like helping people too, and I'm a counselor," Latoya countered. "My mom likes helping people, and she's a teacher. So tell me why you, Kevin, want to be a doctor. It's important to understand the roots of your goals."

"I—I don't really know what to say. Like I said, I like my studies and I like helping people. I'm smart, and I have the motivation needed to get there. What else do you want?"

Latoya was quiet for a moment, jotting down a few more notes. Kevin would've loved to see what was on that notepad. "Aren't we supposed to be talking about, I don't know, my addiction or something?"

"We go where the session takes us," she said. "So your goal is med school at Johns Hopkins. What about afterward? Tell me what complete success and actualization looks like to Kevin Price."

"Afterward? Well, ideally I'd get a residency at some highly-ranked hospital in Florida, though I'd be okay with Georgia, I suppose. Anywhere close to Florida, basically. Then I'd settle down in a small suburb of Orlando, find a wife, have a few kids and a few dogs. We'd buy a cute house with a white picket fence and a big backyard, get annual passes to Disney World and take the kids there all the time."

"Orlando, huh?"

Kevin grinned. "It's my favorite city in the world."

"But you want to live in Baltimore first."

"I wouldn't say I _**want**_ to live in Baltimore, but that's where Johns Hopkins is so that's basically the way it goes."

"This life you're aiming for after school; it sounds pleasant," Latoya remarked.

Kevin smiled wistfully. "It is," he said. "And if I can make it work, then I would pretty much have everything I want. Family, a nice place, a life in Orlando. It would be incredible."

"And you'd love your job."

"Right. I'd love my job."

"Why would you love your job?"

Kevin paused. "What?"

"Why would you love your job as a doctor, Kevin?"

He felt himself bristling with annoyance. "I've told you that already. Several times."

"You've told me why you love your major. You've told me why you love the helping profession. Now tell me why, specifically, you would love being a doct—"

"I don't know!" Kevin snapped. "I don't know, okay? I don't even know if I want to _**be**_ a doctor!"

He clasped his hand over his mouth as soon as the words were out, eyes widening as the realization hit him full force. Holy shit. He didn't know if he wanted to be a doctor. He'd spent the last two years busting his ass to get into medical school, and he didn't even know if he wanted to be a damn doctor.

Panicking, he looked up at Latoya, who was scrutinizing him with sympathy. "I'm done," he said. "I know we still have time, but, um, I have to go."

"Kevin—"

"No, please, I don't want to talk anymore."

She nodded. "Do you still want to see me next week?"

"Yes." Kevin's hands were shaking a little as he reached for his bag. "Yes, definitely, I really, really need to, but—just not now."

"All right. Listen, Kevin, you don't need to leave if you aren't feeling well. I want to make sure you're okay."

"I am! I'm fine, really." He forced himself to take a deep breath to steady his nerves, and then he gave her a tight smile. "I just need to think about some things."

Yes, this was fine. He was fine. He just needed to think about a few things. Like his future, his goals, and reevaluating his entire life. Piece of cake, right?


	35. Connor Punches My Girlfriend

_**Junior Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Connor Punches My Girlfriend**

Kevin paced back and forth in front of the Microbiology office, clutching a fistful of hair in his hands. The door was closed and the lights were off, but nevertheless he stayed right where he was.

After a few minutes he was finally jerked out of his anxious and frustrated thoughts by an all-too-familiar voice. "What the hell is your problem this time?"

Kevin stopped and spun back around to see Brynn standing at the end of the hallway with a three-ring binder in her hands, eyebrows raised.

"Where's Dr. Himawari?" he snapped.

"How the fuck would I know?" she stepped forward, heels clacking on the tile. "Probably home, it's five-forty five. You think she lives here or something?"

"She should!" Kevin insisted stubbornly. "I need to talk to her right now. I don't want to be a doctor."

Brynn faltered at that. "Come again?"

"I don't want to be a doctor, okay? I just came from counseling, and I found out I've been planning this wrong the whole time and I don't know what I want to be, so I need to talk to my advisor and fix this. Right now."

The look she was giving him could best be described as mystified. "Are you serious?"

"Yes!" Kevin shrieked. "Oh my God, what should I do?" He looked down at her desperately, and in a moment of madness, he actually reached forward and grabbed her shoulders. "What the hell do I _**do**_ , Brynn?"

Brynn immediately jerked away from his grasp. "You really think I know the answer to that?" she said. "What exactly are you looking for here?'

"I don't know!" Kevin cried. Mind running wild, he tossed his hands up in the air in frustration and resumed his pacing. "That's the problem, okay? I don't know!"

Brynn shook her head. "All right, stop. Hey, calm down. Hey!" she stepped forward to physically block his path, her free hand on her hip. "Do you want my help or not?"

She spun on her heel and stepped into an empty classroom, motioning for him to follow. "Now then," she said, leaning against the whiteboard. "What the hell is going on?"

"I can't figure my life out," he said, a desperate look in his eyes. "I was talking to my counselor, and I realized I don't want to be a doctor but I've been planning my entire _**life**_ around being a doctor so what the hell am I supposed to do now?" He heard Brynn sigh as he began pacing once more, this time across the front of the classroom. "What exactly am I supposed do now? What about Johns Hopkins? Do I even want to go there anymore? What's the point? It's in Baltimore, Brynn, Baltimore! Have you ever been to Baltimore?" He stopped abruptly and glared at her. "Well, _**have**_ you?"

"No, Kevin," she snapped. "I've never been to fucking Baltimore."

"Me neither!" Kevin's voice was borderline shrilly by now. "How do I know I'd like it? I haven't even Googled it! I've just been so set on being a doctor that all I thought about was the school."

Defeated, he slumped back against the podium, running a hand through his mussed hair. "I need to figure this out," he said. "I just need to focus, that's all. Damn it, why is it so hard? I just need...I need…"

He trailed off, staring absentmindedly at Brynn as if he'd never seen her before. "Hi," he said after a few seconds, almost as if in a daze.

She scowled. "Kevin, what the fuck?"

"You're really short, you know that?" he remarked. "Do you even clear five feet?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm five-one," she stated.

"Uh huh. I need you to do something for me, Brynn. Can you do that?" He took a few steps toward her, and based on her extremely confused expression, he figured he must've looked like a crazy man, though he really didn't care at this point. "You knew Ira was a drug dealer. Who else do you know?"

Her eyebrows shot up in clarity. "You want me to hook you up with someone with Adderall?" she said. "No way, junkie. Hell no."

"I told you, I need to focus!" he persisted. "I have to reevaluate my entire life plan tonight. How am I supposed to do that without the pills?"

"I don't care if you need to focus. Who would I even refer you to, anyway? Just because Ira happened to tell me he sold drugs doesn't mean I know every dealer on campus." She tapped her fingernails against the binder in her hands. "And you really think you're gonna get all that figured out tonight? That's impossible. What're you gonna do, Google _what job do I want_? In addition to _do I like Baltimore_?"

"Maybe," Kevin snapped.

"Well that's stupid. We're science majors; we know better than to plan our whole lives around one assessment on some dumbass website."

"Well, fine then. And I don't care what you say; it's not impossible. At least not if I have the pills. Maybe if I take them just this once, I could—"

"No, Kevin. Don't open that floodgate," she said. "Why do you even need to know tonight? Do you want to change your major?"

"No," he replied. "I like my major."

"Then what's the problem? Obviously you want to do something in that field. You've probably got a year to figure out exactly what it is before you have to worry about grad school and all that shit."

"So? What if I want to know right now?" Kevin said. "I hate not knowing, Brynn. And I hate not having the pills. Sometimes it's fine, and everything seems clear, but then my mind starts to race and it's—God, it's a mess. It's day one, and I'm already a fucking mess."

Eyes filling with tears of frustration, he stepped back and dropped down into the closest little desk, burying his face in his hands.

He heard Brynn clear her throat uncomfortably before taking a few hesitant steps toward his seat. A couple seconds later, he heard her settle down and felt a hand on his shoulder giving him a few stiff, awkward pats.

"There there," she said flatly.

"I'm so sick of not having my shit together," he groaned.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, no one actually _**likes**_ not having their shit together."

He lifted his head to scowl at Brynn. "You really suck at this." Sniffing and wiping away a stray tear that had managed to leak out, he added, "What the hell am I supposed to tell people when they ask about my future? _I don't know_?"

"Sure, why not? You _**don't**_ know."

"That's not good enough. I can't be one of those undecided students. That's all well and good before college, or during freshman year even, but I'm halfway through and I need a damn plan."

"You'll figure it out eventually." Brynn was clearly starting to lose patience. "You're freaking out over nothing; try focusing on the here and now for once. Don't you have homework or something?"

Kevin sighed and rested his chin in his hand. "I guess," he said. "I hate that, though. How am I supposed to do anything if I don't know how it fits into my future?"

"Just like everyone else who has no clue what their future looks like. Do any of us really know that?"

Kevin made a noncommittal noise. "You're so lucky, you know that?" he said grudgingly. "All you have to do when you're finished here is go to law school and take the bar. It's so much easier than what I have to deal with."

She pursed her lips. "Yeah, it's gonna be a fucking walk in the park," she deadpanned. "What exactly do you think the bar is? A damn candy bar and a high five? You think they'll give us Snickers or Kit Kats?"

Kevin rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, slouching down in his seat. "Whatever," he grumbled. "I hate growing up."

"Join the club, buddy."

* * *

_One Week Later_

Slowly but surely, Kevin was learning to live with uncertainty in his life. His advisor was probably sick of him, everyone in Career Services knew him by name, and he'd spent countless hours researching careers in microbiology, but hey, he was adjusting. And most importantly, he was still Adderall-free.

"Venti nonfat white mocha with hazelnut and an extra shot of espresso for Shelby," he called with a bright smile, handing the drink over to the girl by the counter. He'd suggested it to her when she couldn't decide, and it was one of his favorite creations. Maybe he could just stay in school forever, working at Starbucks and tutoring poor souls in college algebra.

Yeah right.

"Hi there." Kevin's stomach did a funny little flip at the welcome voice. He looked up and grinned when he saw Connor at the cash register.

"Hey you," he said, stepping up to the machine. "You buying anything?"

"Yeah, I want a coconut sunset frappuccino, light on the coconut but extra sunset."

"Ha ha," Kevin muttered dryly. "That's not a thing, jerk."

"Make it anyway. Caffeine-free, with double the sugar, and no calories whatsoever."

"You think you're so clever, don't you? I'm guessing you want your usual." Kevin plucked a grande cold cup out of the stack and marked it up for passion tea lemonade.

"Of course, thanks." It was only when Kevin reached for Connor's debit card that he noticed the other was practically bouncing with glee.

"What're you so excited about?" he asked.

"I'm Caldwell Cladwell!" The words burst from Connor's mouth the second Kevin finished his question, and Kevin paused with the card still in hand.

"I don't know what that is," he admitted. "Wait, are you talking about the play? Did you get the part you wanted?"

"I did! Can you believe it, Kev? I just found out. I actually get some of my own songs this time, and I've never played a villain before. This is gonna be so much fun!"

"That's awesome." Kevin finally swiped the card and handed it back, and he felt his mouth quirking up into another warm smile. "You're gonna be incredible! And you totally deserve it, too."

"Aw, thanks. I can't wait to get started." He didn't speak up again until Kevin finished making his drink and passed it over the counter. "Hey, shouldn't you be at your counseling appointment?"

Kevin swallowed and shifted. "It's on Wednesday now," he said. "I rescheduled it to pick up this shift. I feel kind of bad about it, though. Latoya probably thinks I'm avoiding her after last time."

Connor quirked an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink. "Are you?"

"No," Kevin shot back. "Well, maybe. I don't know."

Connor started to respond, but apparently thought better of it when a cluster of students approached the counter. "Well, don't avoid her for too long," he said. "I'll let you get back to work. Take care!"

"See you later," Kevin called. He watched Connor hurry off before he plastered that trademark grin on his face. "What can I get started for you?" he asked the first person in line.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Oh no.

Arnold stared down at his phone in shock. Had he read that text correctly?

No, surely not. But then he reread it again, and again, and yet again, each time coming to the same conclusion. This was bad. This was very, very bad. He looked desperately around the apartment, empty save for him and Bailey, who was happily lounging on the floor with her squeaky toy. Where was Kevin when he needed him? Oh, right, at work. Crap. He needed air.

"Wanna go out, Bailey?" he asked. At the sound of her name, she perked up and gave him a curious glance. What was the phrase Kevin used, again? Oh, right. "Walk time!" he said, and she immediately hopped up. Grabbing her leash, he clipped it and then they headed outside. Once they were on the sidewalk, he let her lead him along.

This was nice. Bailey wasn't a puller, so it was a nice, pleasant stroll. Just what he needed. Now all he had to do was figure out how to handle that text—

A rabbit suddenly scurried out of a bush, and Bailey leapt forward. Unprepared, Arnold felt the leash slip out of his hand and watched in horror as she flew ahead, hot on the rabbit's trail.

"Bailey!" he squeaked, rushing after her. "Bailey, come back! Please?" But it was no use; within a matter of seconds, she was out of sight.

"Oh no," he wailed out loud. This was bad. No, scratch that. It was bad before; now it was a disaster. First the text, and now—

"I lost Kevin's dog," he cried, running around in a circle on the grass in the parking lot, overwhelmed. "I lost my best friend's best friend!"

Kevin would kill him. He'd already been pissy since the whole doctor fiasco, and if he came home to find Arnold had lost Bailey, he'd flat out murder him.

"Oh, crap," Arnold said, still running around in panic. "Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!" He had to fix this, but how? Bailey could be long gone by now, or—oh no, what've she'd run into the road and been hit by a car? And then Kevin would see her on his way home, all squashed and dead, and he'd totally—

"What the hell are you doing?"

Arnold froze and turned in the direction of Brynn's voice. She was standing on the sidewalk wearing athletic attire and holding Bailey's leash, while the dog stood panting by her side.

"Bailey!" Arnold exclaimed, running forward. "Oh, thank God; how'd you get her? She took off chasing the bunny."

Brynn shrugged. "She must've lost track of it. I was jogging and she came right up to me."

"Well, good." Arnold heaved a sigh of relief and took the leash. "I thought I was toast there for a minute. I was distracted, and she pulled away so fast, y'know?"

Brynn waved a hand dismissively and started jogging once more. "See ya," she called.

"Wait!"

She had only gone a few paces before Arnold's shout stopped her in her tracks once more. "Yeah?" she asked, annoyance visible on her face.

"Maybe you can help me out," he said. "Something happened, and I don't know what to do."

He must've looked completely lost, because she started back over to him. "What do you mean?" she asked with intrigue.

"Um, well, Naba just texted me." He swallowed nervously. "She wants to have the sex with me."

In a split second, Brynn's expression had changed from one of mild curiosity to one of complete disdain. "Have the what?" she asked.

"The sex, Brynn, the sex!" he waved his arms in the air for emphasis. "And that's like, I mean, it's totally awesome, right? I've always wanted to have the sex. Especially with Naba, 'cause, you know, I love her and think she's hot and stuff."

Brynn quirked an eyebrow, mouth set in a thin, straight line. "Mmhm," she said, spinning on her heel. "Well congrats, bro. Have fun."

"Wait, no, I'm not done! See, the problem is, I'm not really sure how to have the sex."

She halted again and let out a huge sigh of frustration. "Google it."

"Oh, come on, Brynn! Help me out here," he pleaded. "I'm not completely dumb, okay? I know some stuff. It's just, well, I've never done this before and I want to impress her."

Brynn looked up into his puppy-dog eyes and groaned. "Why the hell are you asking _**me**_?" she complained. "Seriously, why does everyone keep coming to me with their problems? Am I approachable? What's the reason? No, really, tell me so I can do something about it." Crossing her arms, she added, "Look, I get why you don't want to go to your Ken doll of a roommate for this, but there isn't anyone else you could ask? Anyone other than me? What about Jami?"

"Is she here right now?"

"Shit, no. God damn it; she's in class." Thinking fast, she said, "What about Connor?"

Arnold shook his head. "Connor won't be able to help," he said. "He's only ever had the gay sex, you know?"

"So? His and Naba's friendship is just as freakishly weird as yours and Kevin's. He probably gives her complimentary fistings every time she can't sleep and needs to get one off."

Arnold's jaw dropped. "Connor _**punches**_ my girlfriend?!" he shrieked.

"Oh my God, no." There were certain people out there who could give you a look so condescending that it made you feel like the dumbest person on the planet. Arnold had always thought Kevin was the ultimate master of that look, but in this moment he realized he was wrong. Brynn DiMarco totally had his friend beat in that area.

"Really?" she continued, dismayed. "Shit, we've got our work cut out for us, don't we?" With one last eye roll, she started up the sidewalk towards Kevin and Arnold's apartment. "Come on, horn dog; guess I'm giving you the sex talk. Is Queen Diva home?"

"Who?"

"Kevin."

"Oh. No, he's at work."

"Good."

* * *

Naba pushed open the stairwell door and stepped out onto Connor's floor, then hurried down the hallway in toward his room. She needed to talk to him as soon as possible. When she neared his open door, however, she found that as soon as possible might not be as soon as she'd hoped.

Connor was sitting with one of his residents on the futon in his room. The girl was leaning against his shoulder with a wad of tissues in her hand, crying while he rubbed her back soothingly.

"Sweetie, look, I know it's hard," he was saying. "Everyone misses home when they come to college for the first time."

"Did you?" the girl asked.

Naba winced as she watched Connor tense slightly. "Of course," he replied. "I, uh, I still do. But you'll get through it. I know it's a rough transition, but you're gonna grow and change so much—"

Figuring it was rude to eavesdrop any longer, Naba turned around and headed toward the common floor sitting area. Settling down on the couch, she pulled out her A&P textbook and began reading the assigned chapter.

"Hey." About fifteen minutes had passed in peaceful silence before she started at the sound of Connor's voice. She looked up to see him leaning against the wall, smiling down at her.

"Hi," she replied, shutting her book and standing up. "Are you finished? I saw that you were, well, busy, I suppose—"

"Yeah, I'm free now," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and leading her back toward his room. "That was one of my residents. She's just feeling a little homesick; she'll be fine." Once they stepped through the doorway, he sat back down on the futon and asked, "What's up?"

Naba groaned and dropped onto the bed. "I did something very stupid," she admitted.

Connor tilted his head in concern. "What happened?"

"I told Arnold I wanted to have sex with him."

"Really? Naba, that's not stupid. We've been over this—"

"Perhaps I should clarify," she jumped in. "I didn't tell him. I texted him."

Connor frowned. "You...texted him?"

"Yes! About an hour ago I texted him _I want to have sex with you_ , just like that, and he hasn't texted back." She pulled up the offending message on her phone, handed it over for him to view, and then held her face in her hands, embarrassed. "I scared him away!"

"Maybe he's just busy right now," Connor said hopefully.

"Busy with what? He said he's at the apartment." Suddenly, she snapped her head back up in realization, eyes widening. "Oh shit, you don't think he's talking to Kevin about this, do you?"

"No, Kevin's at Starbucks. Besides, hopefully Arnold would recognize Kevin probably won't be of much help here."

"Ugh," Naba flopped over and buried her head in the pillow. "I can't believe I was so stupid."

"It wasn't stupid," Connor reassured her. "But, um...that's probably something you should've talked to him about in person."

"I thought this would be easier. It was so awkward otherwise." She sighed and twisted her neck to face him. "Enough about me. Speaking of texts, I didn't mean to blow off yours earlier. Congratulations! I can't wait to see you in the musical."

He grinned. "Thank you," he said. "You have no idea how thrilled I am. I mean, I knew my audition was great, but—I don't know, after Ira said I had no real stage appeal, I kind of...well, you know."

"Well, now you know he was full of shit."

Connor chuckled and opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the chiming of Naba's phone, signaling the arrival of a new message. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Is that Arnold?" she said, her voice unusually shrilly. "Oh God, I can't read it. What does it say?"

Connor looked down at the screen. "No, it's Brynn," he replied. "It says—oh wow, it says, _I'm going to fucking cut you_." Brow furrowed, he gave her a puzzled glance. "What'd you do to her?"

"I don't know," she said defensively. "What's her problem?"

Connor shrugged and looked back down at the phone. "What...did...I...do...question mark," he muttered aloud as he typed out a response.

Only a few seconds passed before the phone chimed again. Connor skimmed the text and let out a snort of laughter, clasping his hand over his mouth. "Oh my gosh."

"What?" Naba said impatiently. "Tell me!"

He looked up at her with mischievous glint in his eyes, lowering his hand to reveal a smirk. "Wanna take a guess as to why your boyfriend hasn't texted you back?"

For a split second she just stared at him in confusion, and then as it hit her she felt a wave of both amusement and sheer horror. "He went to _**Brynn**_ for sex advice!?"

"At least now you know you didn't scare him off."

"Whatever; I don't care about that anymore. Brynn!? He can't handle her! Shit, she's probably showing him how to, I don't know, make lube out of whipped cream or something."

Connor still had that devilish smirk on his face, and Naba squinted in suspicion as he began typing again. "What are you saying?" When he didn't immediately respond, she demanded, "Connor!"

" _Teach him how to make lube out of whipped cream for me_ ," he read his response aloud. "There, sent."

She gasped. "You did _**not**_ send that," she said, standing up and joining him on the futon. "Tell me you didn't actually send that. You did, didn't you? Asshole!"

He merely grinned at her in reply, and then glanced back down at the screen upon the next chime. "She said, _Fuck no, the_...hmm, apparently the _sugar would get all up in your vag and give you an infection_. Good to know."

When the phone sounded one more time, he read the sentence and added, "She says she has strawberry lube you can borrow if you want. That's nice of her. I have some, too; it's vanilla. Feel free to use whichever flavor you prefer."

She gave him the most displeased glare she could manage. "I am not borrowing anyone's personal lubricant," she snapped. "That is not something you two should be sharing with other people." When he started to type out another response, she snatched the phone out of his hands. "No way; you cannot be trusted. Ugh, why do I even keep you around?"

"Because you love me."

"Watch it, mister," she said with a playful shove. "Just because I love you doesn't mean I won't kick your ass. The only reason I'm sparing you now is because I like the necklace you got me for my birthday."

"You mean the necklace Arnold got you?"

She smiled. "I know it was you who picked it out," she countered. "Arnold's a sweet man and I love him very much, but no way could he have found that without your help. Now tell me, what was he originally going to get me?"

"You don't want to know," Connor assured her.

"What? Now I _**really**_ want to know."

"Trust me, you don't," he stressed. "You may not want to sleep with him anymore if you find out. You don't want all this to have been for nothing, do you?'

"Fair enough."

* * *

Bailey was at the door to greet Kevin the minute he got home, her tail wagging fiercely.

"Hi girl!" he cooed, crouching down to pet her. He could hear voices coming from Arnold's room but he paid them no mind, focusing only on giving his dog some loving. "How's my Bailey puppy?" He made his way to the kitchen and reached up into the cabinet for her bag of treats.

"Sit," he said.

She did so, ears perked up. Stooping back down, he held out his hand. "Now shake...good, other paw...now high five!" When she tapped her paw against his raised hand, he laughed and pulled out a treat.

"Good girl! Now treat."

She happily chowed down on one of the biscuits, and Kevin gave her one last pat on her head before heading toward his room. It was only then that he really noticed what the voices were saying, and he paused by Arnold's open doorway to find his roommate and Brynn sitting cross-legged on the bed, Brynn chatting away holding a cucumber covered in a lubed-up condom while Arnold stared at her, thoroughly engrossed.

"So by this point she should be completely aroused, real fucking into it, right? So that's when you just go for it, just take her to pound town, and then—"

"Oh, hi, bestie, you're home!" Arnold cut in as he spotted Kevin. "Check it out, Brynn's teaching me how to have the sex. Want to join us? You can learn how to have the sex, too!"

Kevin simply stood there for a few seconds, slack-jawed in shock. "Um, I'm good," he replied once he found his voice again. "I don't know what led up to this conversation, and I don't _**want**_ to know either. I'm going to my room, and I don't want to hear any more of…" he vaguely waved his hand in their direction. "This."

"Kay, see ya," Brynn replied, unfazed.

Kevin started to step back, but then hesitated. "Uh, I actually need that cucumber for the soup I'm gonna make tonight."

"You still can. Here," Brynn began to peel off the condom, and Kevin quickly held up his hand.

"No, you know what? Never mind. I'll order a pizza."

He turned around and hurried toward his room, making a mental note to avoid any cucumber-related dishes for a long, long time.

* * *


	36. Nancy Pelosi's Cinematic Debut

_**Junior Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 36: Nancy Pelosi's Cinematic Debut**

"Hey, buddy." Arnold plopped down next to Kevin on the couch and gave him a nudge. "Guess what?"

Kevin didn't budge, eyes focused on his screen while he typed away on his MacBook. "If you're gonna go into extreme detail about how you and Naba had sex again, I don't want to hear it."

"No, no, that wasn't it," Arnold quickly replied. "I was just gonna say, I saw the pumpkin spice latte signs you all had up at Starbucks. You know what that means?"

"Yeah, it means I've got a real sweet deal, because I get discount PSLs the entire season."

"Nope. That's not it." Arnold hopped back up and did a little jig. "It means it's Halloween!" he shouted in a singsong voice.

Kevin finally looked up. "It's September," he said flatly.

Undeterred, Arnold continued dancing and singing. "It's Halloween! It's Halloween! _This is Halloween, this is Halloween, Halloween, HALLOWEEN!_ "

Kevin shook his head and looked back down at his computer. "That movie used to freak me out as a kid," he remarked, and Arnold stopped his jig to look at him in surprise.

"Wait, your parents let you watch _Nightmare Before Christmas_? Really, _**your**_ parents?"

"It was a moment of naïveté for them," Kevin explained. "They heard it was a Disney movie and never really considered the fact that it might scar me for—"

"Oh, come on. It's not even really scary, Kev."

"Shut up, I was little. I liked that rag doll girl though, and the little Zero dog. It was one of Jack's favorite movies, actually, but he's…well, you've met him. Anyway, you're not allowed to get excited about Halloween until October."

"Dude, no," Arnold complained as he sat back down on the couch. "You can't put a limit on Halloween; it's the best holiday of them all."

"I prefer Christmas and my birthday."

"You do know your birthday isn't an actual holiday, right?"

"So? It's a day all about me, and it's still better than Halloween."

Arnold pouted. "You never wanna do anything for Halloween, and it sucks. That's gonna change this year, though. No more just going home and handing out candy at your parents' house."

Kevin's brow furrowed, and he looked over at Arnold. "But I wanna see all the neighborhood kids in their costumes," he protested. "They're adorable. And I was gonna dress Bailey up as a ghost and teach her how to hold the candy bucket with her teeth. Hey, maybe she could be the Zero dog! How cute would that be?"

"You can still do that," Arnold pointed out. "Dress her up and take her trick or treating with us, and she can hold one of our candy buckets. Plus you'll get to see all the costumes while we're out, so it's a win-win!"

"I'm not going trick-or-treating with you, Arnold. We're grown men."

"Halloween knows no age limit, my friend. That's the beauty of it."

"No way," Kevin said with finality as he resumed his typing. "If you're old enough to vote, then you're too old to be dressing up and asking strangers for candy. You can do what you want, but I'm not going with you, and that's that."

Arnold scowled and crossed his arms. As much as he loved his friend, he wished that sometimes, just _**sometimes**_ , he would lighten up a little. " _If you're old enough to vote_ ," he mimicked in a deliberately shrill impression of Kevin's voice. " _Meh, I'm Kevin Price, and I'm the stick in the mud, Halloween police_. This isn't over, bestie. You will properly acknowledge Halloween this year. And now that you've been a total pain, I'm gonna tell you about how Naba and I had the sex."

Kevin gave him his signature disapproving glare. "Don't you dare—"

"We've had it three times now!" Arnold happily declared, cutting him off. "It sure was fun. This time, we tried this new thing where—"

Kevin stuck his fingers in his ears and hummed loudly, and Arnold just laughed. "Oh yeah, you're a grown man, all right," he said. Kevin just stuck his tongue out at him and went back to his homework.

"But seriously," Arnold continued. "You should totally try the sex, it's awesome. When are you gonna start dating again?"

Kevin froze. "Not that you need to do anything right away!" Arnold assured him hastily. "But, I mean, it's been years since you've even gone out with a girl—"

"Maybe I don't want to go out with any girls right now," Kevin replied defensively.

Arnold debated for several seconds whether he should ask his next question, before finally just deciding to go for it. "What about boys?"

Kevin flinched, and Arnold immediately wished he hadn't asked. But how could he _**not**_ ask? He thought back to the fight they'd had last semester, right before Kevin had tried…no, he couldn't bring himself to dwell on that. He regretted everything about that fight, calling Kevin out on his feelings like that, but the fact was, two years ago when he'd spotted his friend kissing Connor in Uganda, Kevin had looked so damn happy. Sure, he was drunk, but there was something more as well. Not once since then had Arnold seen him quite that content, and was it really so wrong of him to care about his best friend's happiness?

Be that as it may, Kevin clearly wasn't ready to come to terms with it. "Sorry," Arnold mumbled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"I'm not gay," Kevin spat. "And I'm trying to focus on my recovery right now. Just because I haven't completely fallen apart yet doesn't mean I don't feel like I'm going to, so can you just shut the hell up and let me deal with it?"

Arnold quickly nodded and felt like he wanted to cry. Why did he have to be so stupid? Had he really expected Kevin to take any of this well? And then there was the whole reminder of his illness; no matter how far Kevin had come lately, the fact remained he was still hurting, and that alone made Arnold miserable.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Kevin now typing in slow increments with several pauses, before he sighed and looked over at Arnold.

"I didn't mean to snap at you," he said apologetically. "I'm just…look, I'm not doing very well today, okay?"

In response, Arnold leaned over and wrapped his arms around Kevin from the side. "I didn't know. You seemed fine before."

"Sometimes I have to fake it," Kevin admitted.

Arnold's eyes flickered down to the scar on Kevin's wrist that was still so prominently visible, and he wondered if it would ever completely fade away. "You don't have to fake it around me, Kev."

Still tightly hugging his friend, he wracked his brain. He had to come up with something fun they could do, something that would help Kevin relax and keep him from drowning in his own dark thoughts. Suddenly struck with an idea, he pulled back and beamed.

"You know what I think we should do?" he asked. "I think we should celebrate Labor Day."

Kevin stared at him in confusion. "Labor Day already happened."

"Yeah, and we didn't celebrate it then, so we have to today. Let's have a Labor Day barbeque! It's the perfect day for it, too. A lazy Sunday; what better day could there possibly be?"

"What better day? I don't know, maybe a couple weeks ago, when it actually _**was**_ Labor Day." Kevin shook his head and added, "I have homework, Arn."

"Do it later! Come on, please? It'll be fun, I—" A knock at the door cut him off mid-sentence, and he hopped up eagerly. "That's Connor!" he said.

"Is it?" Kevin asked as Arnold started for the door. "Were you expecting him?"

"Yeah, he said he was gonna let me borrow a book." He opened up the door to reveal a smiling Connor holding out a worn paperback. "Hi Connor! Thanks." He took the book and shifted to allow Connor to step through, and then held it up proudly for Kevin to see.

"Check it out," he said. " _Jews Without Money_. It's one of the books we have to read for Critical Approaches to Literature. It's about Jews and how they don't have any money."

"Sounds racist," Kevin replied.

"It's actually a memoir about a Jewish family in the New York slums during the Great Depression," Connor explained. "We read it for one of my gen eds; it's pretty good." Looking around the room, he added, "Where's Bailey?"

"Napping on Kevin's bed." Arnold tossed the book onto the coffee table and said, "Guess what, Connor? We're having a Labor Day party!"

"Now?" Connor arched a brow and stepped forward, taking a seat in the armchair. "You're a little late."

"Yeah, it's a late Labor Day party. Kevin's gonna grill cheeseburgers!"

"No I'm not," Kevin said. "We're not having an impromptu Labor Day barbecue in the middle of September, Arn."

"Why not? We have to have some sort of barbeque before it gets cold. Especially since we forgot to have one for actual Labor Day, and we couldn't do any fun group activities for Fourth of July since you were in rehab and Connor was drunk."

Connor made some sort of indignant noise, which was ignored by the other two. "Fun group activities?" Kevin questioned. "Just how many people do you plan on having at this thing?"

"Everyone!" Arnold replied excitedly. "All of our closest friends."

"I think Poptarts actually works on Sundays," Connor pointed out.

"Okay, then, everyone except Poptarts. Please, Kevin? Don't throw shade on the late Labor Day barbeque; it's gonna be so much fun! And besides, Labor Day is the ultimate holiday for this great nation. Do you even know what it's about?"

"A celebration of American workers demanding minimum wage and fair benefits, both of which have failed to keep up with inflation and modern society?" Connor said.

Arnold started at him, dumbfounded. He hadn't actually expected an answer to that. "Um, yeah!" he finally went with. "That's totally the American way!"

Kevin still didn't look convinced. "Arnold, I don't have time to grill cheeseburgers for a barbeque," he said. "I told you, I have homework, and I wasn't planning to cook at all. If you wanted me to grill, you should've told me about this yesterday."

"But I didn't know about this yesterday!"

"I can grill if you need me to," Connor spoke up.

Arnold instantly felt the blood drain from his face as every kitchen accident, charred side dish, grossly undercooked piece of meat, and disgusting concoction that Connor had put them through in Uganda before Kevin demanded all kitchen duties flashed through his mind. He stared at Kevin with the best puppy dog eyes he could muster.

"Please make the cheeseburgers, buddy," he begged, ignoring Connor's scowl. "He's the worst cook in the world; don't make me eat his food. Please, Kevin, I'm begging you!"

"I'm not _**that**_ bad," Connor grumbled.

"Yes, you are," Arnold argued. "You're the worst. If it weren't for the dining hall and take-out, you'd starve." He turned back to Kevin again. " _ **Please**_ , bestie?"

Kevin gazed at Arnold in confliction, worrying his bottom lip. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll make you some damn cheeseburgers. I've never used any of the grills in the common area before though, so don't expect perfection."

Arnold clapped in delight. "Woo hoo! This is gonna be awesome. Oh, we should make it a potluck! That way you won't have to do all the work."

"What should I bring?" Connor asked.

"You can bring paper plates and silverware," Arnold replied. "Oh, and cups!"

Once again, Connor scowled. "What if I don't want to bring those things?" he said stubbornly. "What if I want to bring, I don't know, apple pie or something?"

"Don't you dare bring any food," Arnold told him firmly. "Mmm, though; apple pie! The ultimate American dessert for the ultimate American holiday. Yeah, someone should totally bring some. Just not you, Connor." Connor opened his mouth to speak, and Arnold held up a hand. "No," he said. "Just no."

"But I've made apple pie before," Connor managed to get out before Arnold could stop him again.

"That was Sara Lee and you burned it, asshole," Kevin retorted, and Arnold nodded in solemn agreement. Connor just rolled his eyes, muttered something about a lack of trust, and settled back further in the chair.

* * *

_Late That Afternoon_

As it turns out, it's hard to have a potluck barbeque when half the party doesn't even have groceries. As such, Connor was now driving Naba and Arnold to the grocery store, Arnold complaining loudly about the delay.

"Ugh, this is gonna take forever," he said. "The store's always busy at this time, and I'm hungry!"

"We'll manage," Naba replied.

"Will we, though?" Arnold asked. "Who knows? Oh, hey, I know how we can pass the time. Wanna play a game I just thought of? It's called Will You Push the Button, and it's from this website I used to go on sometimes. So okay, if you push the button something happens, but something else happens, too. And you have to decide whether to push it. But it's more specific than that, right? Like, if I were doing it with Kevin I'd say, _If you push the button, you'll get fame and fortune, but you can never go to Orlando again for as long as you live_. And he'd be like, _Define fame and fortune_ , so I'd say, _Anything you could ever possibly want_. So he'd be all, _But that includes Orlando!_ So then I'd have to clarify, _Everything except Orlando_. But then he'd say, _What if I use my fame and fortune to build an exact replica of Orlando?_ And I'd be like, _No Kevin, no Orlando replicas either. Now hurry up and pick_. So finally he'd say, _No, I can't do it; it's not worth it_. So he wouldn't push the button! See?"

"Wow. That was really detailed," Connor remarked. "Have you played this with him before?"

"Nope. But I know my bestie very well. Okay, let's start! I'll ask the questions because I know how this goes." He cleared his throat and looked over at Naba. "Okay, Naba. You…uh…oh, I know, uh, the thing you want to happen in your favorite TV show happens, but—"

"What thing in my favorite TV show?" Naba asked.

"Oh well, you know, the thing you want."

"That isn't specific at all," she argued. "What exact thing are you talking about?"

"I don't know, that's up to you," Arnold said. "Just whatever you want to happen most. In your favorite!"

Naba frowned. "But that isn't enough to go on. I don't know what I would choose. Which show are we even talking about? I don't have only one favorite."

"You should pick _Scandal_ ," Connor turned right onto the next street. "And make Olivia finally move on from that useless president everyone has to carry around."

"Oh, that's a good idea." Naba nodded. "And then she and the First Lady could team up and become the best pair of bad bitches the world has ever seen. Yes, I will choose that one."

"Okay cool," Arnold said. "Well, if you push the button that happens, but we also have to break up."

She turned around in her seat to give him a long, hard look. "This is a trick question, isn't it?"

"No, not at all! Just, uh, choose your answer very carefully."

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "No, Arnold. I will not push the button."

"Awesome." Arnold grinned proudly and then shifted his focus to Connor. "Your turn, Connor. Let's see, what can I ask for you…hmm…oh, I know! Oh boy, this is a good one, you're gonna be so stumped. Okay, here we go: you get a thousand dollars, but you have to have the sex with a woman. Will you push the—"

"Yes," Connor cut him off without a second thought, and Arnold did a double-take.

"Really?" he asked, eyes wide in surprise. "But you're gay."

"So? A thousand dollars is a lot of money; who _**wouldn't**_ take that offer? Seriously, just suck it up and go with it. Honestly, I don't even think it would bother me that much. It's not like she's gonna have a bear trap down there."

"Hmm, interesting. You make a valid point. Okay, new question: you get _**ten thousand**_ dollars, but you have to have the sex with a woman, and she's got a bear trap down there."

Connor eyed him with skepticism in the rearview mirror as they pulled into the parking lot. "How's she gonna fit it?"

"You don't know this lady," Arnold retorted. "You don't know how far she can stretch."

Connor abruptly clapped a hand over his mouth and snorted in laughter, and Naba hastily reached over to right the steering wheel as they nearly strayed into the path of another car.

"Be careful!" she cried. "And Arnold, do you really think any woman—no, any _**person**_ , really—could fit a bear trap inside them?" She shook her head. "We are not playing this in the store; we'll sound ridiculous."

That was probably for the best; once Connor parked and they made their way inside, Arnold muttered, "Let's make this quick; gotta get the pie," and darted straight for the frozen foods.

"You mean the pie no one would let _**me**_ make?" Connor snapped, and Naba put a hand on his arm.

"Let it go," she said, leading him toward the paper products. "Is it bad that I'm super excited for Kevin's cheeseburgers? Too bad Poptarts had to work."

"He'll survive." Connor plucked the cheapest pack of paper plates off the shelf. "You know, actually, speaking of Poptarts, something's up with him," he added. "I haven't seen him much lately because I haven't been to Layton since school started and our free times rarely match, but he's been…I don't know, different."

"I don't see him much, either," Naba replied. "Different how?"

"Like, well…happy."

Naba frowned. "Isn't he usually happy?"

"Yes, but still." Connor added some plastic cutlery to his stack. "Maybe happy isn't the right word. It's just that he's normally such a damn shit-stirrer, and here recently anytime I've seen him, he's been so, well, pleasant. It's freaking me out. There's just something off, and when I asked him what was going on he said he didn't know what I meant."

"Well, maybe he doesn't. It sounds like he's just in a good mood."

"Yes, but _**why**_? He's usually in a good mood, but I've never seen him like this before. Oh, and get this: yesterday I saw him in the library so we started studying together, and—well, I've known him long enough that I always keep a Poptart in my bag in case he wants a snack, right? So I asked him if he wanted it, and he said, _No, I'm good_." He threw his hands up in the air, dumbfounded. " _No, I'm good_? What the hell is that?"

"Perhaps he just wasn't hungry at the time." Naba suggested as she picked up some napkins and cups.

"He's always down for Poptarts, though. Something's on his mind, and I want to know what it is."

Naba laughed and shook her head. "If you say so. Come on, let's go find Arnold."

* * *

Kevin neatly arranged several patties on the grill in front of him and tried to tell himself that everything was fine, just fine. Except maybe it wasn't, because stupid Arnold _**insisted**_ on having this damn barbeque when he knew Kevin felt like shit.

 _Stop that_ , he told himself. Arnold had meant well, really. He knew that. But still, now he had to put on this fake, happy routine for everyone all afternoon, when all he really wanted was to finish up his paper and then crawl into his bed with Bailey, shutting everything and everyone else out.

 _Breathe_ , he reminded himself, gazing dully at the red-hot charcoal pieces. _Just relax. Relax and breathe. Don't fall apart now. Deal with it, smile, and don't ruin the whole thing for everyone_.

With one long, deep sigh, he grabbed the spatula and gave the first patty a flip.

* * *

When Connor, Naba, and Arnold returned, Kevin had finished up on the grill, closed Bailey off in his room so she wouldn't beg, and had the cheeseburgers laid out on a plate along with buns and an assortment of toppings. Naba set out the potato salad and Arnold handed the pie off to Kevin to put in the oven. Connor dropped the first of his two bags, the one filled with plates, cups, napkins, and cutlery, onto the counter.

"Here's your damn paper crap," he muttered. Then he looked up at Jami and Brynn and brightened. "Hey you two!" he chirped. "I see you brought coleslaw and chips. Who brought which?"

"I made the coleslaw," Jami replied. "This hopeless thing brought the chips."

"Hey, I get it," Connor said with a smile. "I was banned from bringing anything actually exciting. But Jami, I haven't seen you in forever. Where've you been?"

"Oh, you know," Jami cleared her throat. "Just busy. I have another practicum this semester, and also—um, well, I mean it's busy, right? With the practicum, I mean."

Connor frowned. "Right," he said. "Well, let's get this party started, then." He reached into his second bag and pulled out a bottle of Riesling. "I brought wine," he said.

"The rest of us don't drink wine," Kevin pointed out. "You know that."

"Really? Darn." Connor sighed in mock dismay. "Guess I'll have to drink all this myself then. Can't take it back to the res hall, and I can't let it go to waste, right?"

"I drink wine," Brynn said, digging around in the cabinets for a couple of glasses. "I'll help you out."

"Nope. Too late. This is my wine; get your own."

"Yeah right; fuck you, too. Oh my God, Kevin, why don't you have any damn wine glasses in here?"

"I told you; I don't drink wine," Kevin replied. "Use the paper cups."

Connor pulled out a couple of the cups and studied Kevin curiously while Brynn opened up the bottle. He looked so…defeated, really. While he was often right in his element in the kitchen, today he lacked his usual vigor. Connor felt his heart sink and took a long sip of the wine Brynn had poured him.

"Oh, man, this is so tasty!" Arnold had already slapped together a burger and was digging in. "Good job, Kev! Happy late Labor Day, everyone."

"Thanks," Kevin responded without the smug smile he usually wore when receiving a compliment.

One by one, the others began piling up their plates and taking seats at the table. Connor noted that Kevin's plate was only half full. They all ate in silence for a while, aside from Kevin standing up once to take the pie out of the oven and the occasional comment about how good the food was. Truth be told, it was quite awkward. When Connor finally grew tired of watching Kevin merely pick at his food, he let out a little cough.

"So," he began cheerfully. "How's everyone's semester been? Kevin, how's yours?"

He shrugged. "Fine."

"That's good. How's the tutoring going?"

"It's fine."

"Okay, then. Good to hear. What about everyone else?" When no one spoke up, he focused pointedly on Naba. "What've you been up to, Naba?"

"Not much. Just studying, really." When she didn't elaborate, Connor pursed his lips in annoyance. He'd figured _**she**_ would at least give him something to work with.

"Um, we could play Will You Push the Button," Arnold suggested.

"What's that?" Jami asked.

"No," Naba said firmly before Arnold could elaborate. "No more of that game, Arnold. We had enough in the car."

"Oh, I know what we could do!" Connor clapped his hands once, quite proud of his revelation. "This'll be fun. Let's all decide who would play us in a movie. So, okay, here's how it'll work: we'll each pick the actor for the person, say, to the right of us, and then they'll pick for the person to the right of them. I'll start." He looked to his right and gave Brynn a scrutinizing stare. "All right, Brynn, you would be played by…hmm…Ariana Grande, I think. Okay, your turn."

"But that means I have to choose for Kevin," Brynn protested. When Connor simply shrugged, she rolled her eyes and said, "Fine. Kevin, you'd be played by Meryl Streep."

"You can't pick Meryl Streep," Connor argued. "That's a cop-out; she could play any of us. Pick someone else."

"Okay then, Kevin, you'd be played by Nancy Pelosi."

"Nancy Pelosi's a politician," Connor countered.

"So? Ariana Grande's a singer."

"She's done acting, too. Nancy Pelosi's never acted before and has nothing in common with Kevin, so pick someone else."

"How many times are you gonna tell me to pick someone else? I never heard you say anything about you being able to override us while explaining the rules of this stupid-ass game, so if I say Kevin's played by Nancy Pelosi, then he's fucking played by Nancy Pelosi."

Connor glared at her. "Fine," he bit out. "Nancy Pelosi it is, then. Kevin, your turn."

"All right," Kevin said dully. "Naba, you'd be played by Fat Amy. The character, not the actress."

"You all aren't even trying, are you?" Connor snapped. "You know what? Never mind. This was clearly a bad idea."

"Let's try a new game, then," Arnold said. "I have another idea. Why don't we all try to guess what Poptarts is doing right this minute."

Naba shot him a bemused glance. "What kind of question is that? He's working at Target. How many things can you do while working at Target?"

"Actually, he brings up a good point," Brynn said. "Well, sort of. I don't care about Target, but what the hell is up with Poptarts?"

"I know! He was just saying he's been different lately," Connor agreed. "You've noticed it, too?"

"What? No," Brynn replied. "How would I? I meant what's up with him in general. I don't know shit about him. Why does he just weave in and out of your little group at random? Does he have other friends or something? Hell, does he even do anything, besides work, go to school, and get hard-ons for packaged breakfast food? Does he date? Is he gay, straight, bi, nothing? What's his deal?"

Connor felt almost nearly pair of eyes in the room shift to him, but before he could even begin to answer Jami quickly spoke up.

"Chris is straight," she said. "And yeah, he's dated people."

Everyone was now glancing back and forth between her and Connor in confusion (except Kevin, who still seemed despondent and lost in his own thoughts), like they were waiting for confirmation from him.

"That's right; he's straight. And he's had a few dates here and there," Connor added slowly. "But none of them have really amounted to anything more, so I'm basically the only one who knows about them." Looking over at her curiously, he asked, "So then how do you know?"

"Oh, well, I just assumed he had."

Connor's gaze remained locked on her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Did you? And since when do you call him Chris?"

Now her cheeks turned pink, and she shifted uncomfortably. "It's his name, isn't it?"

"Mmhm." That was all he needed for the pieces to fall into place. "Jami Jackson, are you dating my kinda-sorta brother?" he asked. When her face reddened even further, he cried, "Oh my gosh, you are. That's why he's been acting different, isn't it? And why you've been so, quote, _busy with your practicum_?"

"No, that's not it, we're—I mean—we've just been out a few times. It's nothing serious yet, okay?"

"Yet?" Naba chimed, raising an eyebrow.

"Wait, okay, so you and Poptarts are together?" Arnold said. "Aw, how cute!"

"I can't believe neither one of you told me a damn thing about it," Connor snapped.

"Because we knew you'd all act like this!" she retorted.

"Act like what?" Connor challenged.

"Like, well, you know—"

"Hey, Jami," Brynn suddenly cut her off. "I found a picture of your wedding cake." She held up her phone to reveal a cake covered in a variety of Poptarts, a single box serving as the topper. "What do you think? That's basically your future."

Jami shot her an unamused sneer, then looked back at Connor pointedly. "Like that," she said. "It's not like we were never gonna tell anyone, we just wanted it to be official first."

"Well, I'm happy for you two," Naba said. "When did it begin?"

"Right around the start of the semester. I stopped by his house to return the shirt he let me borrow, and then we got to talking, and well, it turns out we have a lot in common so—"

"You're obsessed with Poptarts, too?" Arnold asked.

"No, Arnold. He likes other stuff too, you know. So anyhow, we've been on a few dates since then, and, well," she paused and smiled. "It's been nice."

"That's adorable." Connor smiled a little as well, elbow propped on the table and chin resting in his hand. "I hate you both."

"Well, thank you. Can we change the subject now?"

"Sure!" Arnold yelled with a little too much vigor. "Perfect timing, 'cause I just remembered another thing! We need to do something for Halloween."

"Halloween?" Connor blinked. "It's still September."

"So? It'll be here any day now! And Kevin never does anything, so we need to make him do something."

"We can go to _Rocky Horror_ ," Brynn said. "You know that shitty place downtown, the Bubble?" When everyone except Jami shook their heads, she went on, "Of course you don't; it's that bad. Anyhow, they always play _Rocky Horror_ every Halloween, and it's fucking awful, but everyone has a good time and the alcohol's really cheap. I mean, obviously they don't have anything fancy there, but none of it's above two dollars."

"That sounds fun," Connor said.

"Can people wear costumes?" Arnold asked.

"Hell yeah," she replied. "The sluttier the better."

"Can I go as Batman?"

"I mean, I guess."

"Awesome!" Arnold looked over at Kevin. "Can we go to _Rocky Horror_ , Kevin? I've never seen it before."

Kevin just sighed and stood up. "Honestly, I don't really care either way," he said. "I think I'm gonna go lie down."

"Are you okay?" Jami asked.

"I'm fine, just tired," he assured her, rather unconvincingly in Connor's opinion. "You guys can keep eating and talking if you want; take your time. There's ice cream in the freezer to go with the pie."

The gathering didn't last long after that; really there wasn't much a person could do once a host bails. They chatted for a while, had some dessert, and then gradually went their separate ways. Eventually only Arnold and Connor remained, and once Arnold plopped down in front of the TV to fire up a video game, Connor crept toward Kevin's room. He gently knocked on the door and cracked it open.

"Can I come in?" he asked. Kevin was sprawled out on the bed petting Bailey, and he shrugged in response.

Connor stepped inside and perched at the edge of Kevin's bed, rubbing his back. "What's wrong?"

"If I knew then I wouldn't be here," Kevin mumbled.

"Just one of those days, huh?"

"I ruined Arnold's late Labor Day party."

"You definitely didn't ruin it," Connor assured him with a little chuckle. "It was doomed from the start. And you never have to apologize for having depression, Kev. I hope you realize that."

Kevin was quiet, dropping his hand from Bailey's head to rest beside him on the pillow and relaxing into Connor's ministrations. After a few minutes, his eyes drifted over to Connor's left arm, resting by his side.

"Is that tattoo gonna be a problem for the musical?" he asked.

"Not really. My character wears long sleeves," he replied. "And even if that wasn't the case, it's not hard to cover up." He smiled wryly. "Dermablend works wonders."

"Do you think you'll get any more?"

"I don't know. I might. Just one or two, nothing crazy."

Kevin reached out and traced the outline of Connor's tattoo with his index finger. "You should have something done on your other arm. I like this one a lot."

Connor's smile softened a little. "Thank you. We'll see." He began alternating between rubbing and gently scratching Kevin's back, and Kevin's eyes slowly drifted shut.

"That feels really good," he murmured.

"I'm glad you like it." Connor caught himself just before adding _sweetie_ to the end of that sentence.

Within ten minutes, Kevin was sound asleep. Connor couldn't resist running his fingers through Kevin's hair just once before giving Bailey a little pat and taking his leave.


	37. Maybe It's Maybelline

_**Junior Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 37: Maybe It's Maybelline**

"You seem very preoccupied," Latoya remarked as Kevin's session gradually approached its close.

"I guess I am," Kevin replied. "I, well, I have to go to Wyoming tomorrow for my great-grandpa's funeral. He died a few days ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said.

"Don't worry too much about it; we all saw it coming. He was really old, over a hundred, actually. I didn't know him very well. My parents and grandparents visited him quite a bit, but he had Alzheimer's and got annoyed if the rest of us came along. He didn't like people much. Grandma says he used to be so friendly before his illness, though. Isn't it odd how that can happen?"

"Sounds like you've been thinking about this for a while," Latoya pointed out.

Kevin leaned back on the couch. "Kind of," he said. "He was still family, even if I barely knew him." After chewing his bottom lip for a few seconds, he admitted, "I also don't want to go."

"To the funeral?"

"Right. Isn't that horrible? It's just, I have homework, and Arnold's gonna have to watch my dog. Only for a few days, but still; it'll be the first time I've had to entrust her to someone else. But that's not all, the biggest reason is...well, the thing is, I sort of hate death."

He looked up at Latoya, and when she didn't say anything he went on, "On my second day in Uganda, I saw a man get shot in the face. He was killed right in front of me; there was blood everywhere. And that wasn't the only person who died while I was there. He was the only one murdered, thank heavens, but definitely not the only one who passed. It's always messy, tragic, and comes too damn soon."

He let out a humorless laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. "And to think, I planned to become a doctor," he said. "But it's true. Death always comes too quickly, you know? Whether you're just a baby or over a hundred like Great-Grandpa. What if he still had things he wanted to do? Surely he did, right?"

"No one can answer that question but him, Kevin," Latoya replied.

"Not even him; not anymore," Kevin clarified. "You know how some people, when they're older, can be so at peace with their lives? I can't see myself ever being like that. I know this must sound weird coming from someone who's been suicidal, but Dr. Lindbergh and I talked about how that was more of a desperate escape. I didn't actually want to die. I never want to die."

"You want to live forever?"

Kevin's brow crinkled as he gathered his thoughts. "It's not that, really. I just don't think I could be okay with how little I'm gonna accomplish."

"What makes you so certain you won't accomplish much?"

"Maybe I'm not explaining this very well. It's not that I don't think I'll accomplish much. But how could I possibly reach a point where I'll be able to look back on my life and think, yep, I've done everything I've wanted? Because it's never enough."

He shifted a little, meaning heavily against the armrest. "You know, a couple summers ago I took Intro to Lit, and we had to read this 1920s story about a character—Helga Crane, I think her name was—and she went from one place to another, constantly looking for something new. First Alabama, and then Harlem, Denmark, and finally some other southern state, always trying to restart her life. The theme was mostly about the experience of being mixed race, but it still stuck with me, because I, too, am perpetually dissatisfied with my life."

His shoulders slumped in defeat.

"You struggle to live in the present," Latoya observed. "You're always looking for the next adventure, and it takes the joy out of you're here-and-now."

"Right. So how do I fix that?"

Latoya smiled. "There is no quick fix, sadly. I wish I could say there was. We can work on it, but it'll take time."

Kevin snorted. "Which we don't have right now, because my hour's up."

She shrugged apologetically. "Same time next week?"

"Sounds good."

* * *

_A Few Weeks Later_

"Man, what a rough day," Arnold said as he walked through the front door and proceeded to flop down onto the couch. "And I still have work to do! I think I put off working on my short story too long, but I've been waiting for the creative energy to start flowing. It's a process, you know. But hey, you know what tomorrow is: Halloween! Oh yeah! You excited?" He looked over at Kevin and frowned. "Best friend?"

Kevin was sitting cross-legged on the floor petting Bailey, who was slumped over with her head in his lap. He looked up at Arnold with concern in his eyes.

"Something's wrong with Bailey," he said.

"For real? She looks fine to me."

"She's _**not**_ , though. She's been acting funny for a few days, and she doesn't want to eat or exercise or anything." Arnold's stomach dropped as he noted the panic in his friend's voice. Kevin look back down at Bailey is he stroked her fur. "What's wrong, Bailey Puppy?" he said. "Why are you sad?"

When Bailey didn't move, Arnold did his best to lighten the mood. "Midterms," he joked. "They're getting to all of us."

That was clearly the wrong thing to say; Kevin's eyes snapped back up to Arnold's with a ferocious glare. "She doesn't have midterms; she's not in any classes!" he spat. "Don't you dare turn this into a joke, something's seriously wrong." With one last worried glance at his dog, he shook his head. "I'm taking her to the vet."

The moment he inched away to stand up, Bailey let out a little whine. "It's okay, girl," Kevin reassured her. "I'm not leaving; you're coming with me."

"I'm coming, too." Arnold said, trying to hide his own worry. If Kevin ever lost Bailey, Arnold didn't even want to _**think**_ about how Kevin would react.

Bailey's usual veterinary clinic was only a short drive away; fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in the waiting room. Arnold tried not to dwell too much on the fact that the dog had merely sprawled out in the back seat on the way over rather than happily staring out the window with her tongue hanging out as usual.

"Kevin and Bailey?" one of the vet assistants said, poking her head out the door to the back. Kevin and Arnold both followed her into one of the examination rooms with Bailey in tow.

"What seems to be the problem?" she asked, coaxing Bailey up the steps to the exam table.

"She's not eating," Kevin explained tensely. "She wouldn't even eat the treat I gave her earlier, and she doesn't like going to the dog park and only wants to be out for a little while when we go for walks. She's been really clingy, too. It's like she's sad or something."

The assistant quickly looked her over and recorded some numbers on her chart. "And how long has this been going on?"

"Three or four days, maybe? I thought it would go away, and it hasn't."

**"** All right, then. Dr. Morales will be with her in just a few minutes." With a few final notes, she took her leave.

"It's okay," Arnold squeezed Kevin's shoulder. "I'm sure she's fine."

"What if she's not, though? What if she's dying?"

Arnold opened his mouth to say he was sure that wasn't the case, but then shut it when it occurred to him that he really knew nothing about dogs, and he had no business making empty promises. "Let's just see what the vet has to say."

The next several minutes felt like eternity, before finally the door opened again and Dr. Morales heaved his way through.

"Hi there," he said, taking a seat in the little wheeled stool by the exam table. Arnold almost winced; as a bigger man himself, he knew that could _**not**_ be comfortable.

"I hear we've got a sad little pooch in here," Dr. Morales went on, slipping on a pair of glasses and squinting at Bailey's chart.

"Yes sir," Kevin said. "She won't eat or play."

"No eating or playing? Well, that can't be right. Those are a dog's favorite things, no? Let's take a look here and see what we find."

Kevin and Arnold both held their breath as Dr. Morales begin poking and prodding Bailey all over, examining her with careful, intense eyes. "Ah hah," he said after a thorough inspection of her abdomen.

"Ah hah? What's that mean?" Kevin asked anxiously. "What's wrong? Is she sick?"

"She's pregnant."

Kevin gaped. "Really?" he said. Then he let out a little squeal. "Bailey, did you hear that? You're gonna be a mommy! My Bailey Puppy's gonna have Bailey puppies! Wait." He stopped short and turned back to Dr. Morales. "That can't be right. She's been fixed."

The vet shot him a bemused look. "I've dealt with my fair share of pregnant dogs over the years, Kevin," he said. "And Bailey here is definitely pregnant, so if you think she's been fixed, then that can pose a serious problem. Where did you have her spayed?"

"I didn't take her anywhere. She's only ever been here for her shots and check-up. But Arnold's grandma had her at a shelter before I got her. They always fix, don't they?"

"What? No, Kev, that's not how it happened," Arnold clarified. "Gran never took her to the shelter. She was going to, but then she just kept her until we gave her to you."

Arnold watched as Kevin just stood there, bewildered. "Really?" he said. "Huh. Well, shit. Okay, so maybe it was stupid of me to assume she'd already been fixed, but I still don't get how she's pregnant. The only times she's ever around other dogs are at the dog park, and I watch her like a hawk there. I can't think of a single time where..."

He drifted off as it occurred to him, and Arnold almost cowered at his fierce glare. "Arnold, what the hell happened while I was in Laramie?"

"Nothing!" Arnold assured him. "She didn't get it on at the dog park! I know that for sure, 'cause I never actually took her to the dog park! I know I said I did, but it was a lot of effort and I didn't want to. But I didn't want you to be mad, so I lied. But I still watched her real close, I swear! I even took her with me to movie night at Naba's. Boy, she had fun. Brynn was watching her mom's dog, too; a little dachshund named Oscar. They played and played, running all over the place together, and…huh...oh, now it makes sense. Kevin, I think Oscar's the baby daddy."

"What?" Kevin said tensely. "Are you telling me that Bailey's been knocked up by _**Brynn's**_ dog?"

"No, Kevin, didn't you listen to a word I said? It was Brynn's _**mom's**_ dog."

Kevin opened his mouth to snap back, but then seem to remember Dr. Morales was in the room, and he regained his composure. "Whatever, we can worry about that later. The point is, she's fine. Right, doctor?"

"Absolutely," Dr. Morales agreed. "This behavior is normal for dogs in her condition. Her body's making a lot of changes, and her hormones are all over the place. Don't worry about the lack of appetite, it'll pass."

Kevin let out a sigh of relief. "That's great news," he said. "And soon enough, we'll have cute little puppies running around! Puppies that I get to play with, and cuddle, and...and…feed and walk and pay vet bills for...um, Dr. Morales? How many puppies are we talking, exactly?"

"Oh, it's too soon to tell. A big dog like her? It could be as few as one or as many as twelve."

Arnold could see the blood drain from Kevin's face. "There's no way the landlord would let us keep them in the apartment," he said.

"What about your parents?" Arnold suggested. "They could stay there with Bailey until it's time to find homes for them. And then you could get her fixed afterward."

"That could actually work," Kevin replied. "Good thinking, Arn." Just as Arnold beamed proudly, Kevin quickly added, "Still doesn't change the fact this is all your fault."

"Hey! I'm not the dummy who didn't bother to check to see if my dog was fixed or not!"

"Whatever. Dr. Morales, what am I supposed to do to take care of her?" Kevin asked. "I want to make sure everything goes okay. What if she doesn't eat the right things, and her babies don't grow? Or—oh my God, what if she eats too much of the right things and they grow so big she explodes?"

The look the doctor was giving him now could best be described as a combination of confusion and pity. "I can guarantee you she's not gonna _**explode**_ , Kevin."

Kevin blushed. "Okay, maybe not. But I don't want anything to go wrong."

"I'll walk you through this. But really, Kevin, you don't have to get too worked up. She'll know what to do, she's a smart one."

As Dr. Morales explained all the details to Kevin, Arnold smiled and gave Bailey a scratch behind the ear. Everything was gonna be fine. She wasn't dying, and Kevin wasn't gonna lose it.

Plus, he was _**really**_ excited to see these puppies.

* * *

_The Next Evening_

Kevin stared at himself in the mirror, barely even recognizing his reflection. The figure in the mirror had tousled hair and was wearing eyeliner, a standard white missionary shirt (albeit untucked with his nametag askew, the tie loosened, and the first few buttons undone), and tight leather pants that accentuated certain parts of his anatomy far more than he would've liked.

"I look ridiculous," he muttered.

"Don't be silly," Naba said, standing next to him and admiring her work. "You look hot."

He glanced over at her in a revealing Harley Quinn outfit before looking back in the mirror. "I don't even get what I'm supposed to be."

"I told you. You are a sexy missionary who just got fucked."

"Yeah, well, I look more like some weird emo kid who slapped on a nametag and doesn't know how to pick out clothes that fit."

Naba shrugged. "I like my description better, but it's your costume so call it whatever you want." When two new voices sounded in the living room, she brightened. "Connor and Brynn are here!" she said, pulling him by his tie out of the bathroom before he could protest. "Fair warning, they've been pre-gaming."

"They've been what?"

"Pre-gaming. Drinking in advance." Even if she hadn't provided that explanation, Kevin would've been able to tell by their snorts of laughter that they were already tipsy. They both looked up from their seats on the couch when he and Naba entered, and Connor felt silent, gaping at Kevin's outfit.

"Hey," he said a little breathlessly, eyes raking up and down Kevin's figure. Kevin felt his cheeks redden. "You look, um...nice."

Brynn just shrugged and crossed one leg over the other. "I still don't think he has anything down there."

"Shut up," Kevin snapped. "What the hell are you supposed to be, anyway?" he added as he took in her thick makeup, thigh-high stilettos and short-corsetlike dress.

"A dominatrix," she said, tapping the riding crop in her hand against her knee. "Connor's a cat."

"Is that all there is to your costume?" Naba asked, and Connor finally snapped his eyes away from Kevin long enough to look down at his getup, completely normal save only for the cat-eared headband in his hair.

"Well, originally I was gonna be Scar," he explained. "But I couldn't find a mane so I was just gonna use a long black wig, and then Brynn said I would look more like Cher, and then I had a few more glasses of wine and got distracted when we had Asian fusion, and now I'm here, so...um, yes. This is it."

"You had Asian fusion without me?!" Arnold called as he suddenly came bounding out of his room, bumbling even more than usual due to his Batman suit. "No fair! Wait, what is that, exactly?"

Naba rolled her eyes. "They didn't have Asian fusion," she said. "They ate sushi takeout and Taco Bell."

Arnold's jaw dropped. "You had Taco Bell without me?" he cried. "Rude! Hey, do you guys like Naba's and my costumes? She's a slutty version of Harley Quinn, and I'm slutty Batman."

"Really?" Connor said after taking a sip from his Taco Bell cup. "It looks just like regular Batman to me."

"That's just 'cause the store didn't have slutty Batman. So, the way I see it is, I look like regular Batman because I can't ruin my disguise, but I'm, y'know, still slutty. Because it's not all about clothes, right? Clothes, actions, it's all about doing what makes you feel empowered. And that's the message I want slutty Batman to convey."

"Good for you, Arnold." Connor said, standing up. "Okay, let's get going. I want to get my drink on."

"You already have," Naba pointed out. "Kevin, will you drive us? These two clearly can't."

Kevin nodded and bent down to give Bailey a hug.

"We'll be back later, girl," he said. "Don't worry, you can wear the ghost costume and help me hand out candy next year." He then grabbed his keys and headed outside with the others, listening to Connor babble excitedly as they started down the steps.

"Oh my God, Naba, I just had the best idea," he was saying. "You know what we should do? I should teach you how to drive!"

Naba's eyes lit up just a little. "Really? You would do that?"

"Of course. I mean, you'd have to do the whole written test permit thing first. But _**then**_ I'd teach you. And then the Cunninghams can buy you a car so you don't need to use rides or the bus anymore, and they'll be so grateful that they'll buy me a new car too, and they'll pay all my student loans and buy me, like, an apartment in New York or something."

"I think you are overestimating their wealth and generosity a little," Naba laughed. "Am I allowed to get a license with my student visa, though?"

"I think so. One of my residents is here on a visa, and she has one."

"Okay then," she said with a grin. "Let's do it."

"Awesome!" Arnold suddenly chimed in. "Can you teach _**me**_ how to drive, too?"

Connor's grin tightened a little, and he slowly looked over at Arnold. "Um," he said, voice higher by at least an octave. "Um, okay, maybe...sure. _**Or**_ …or maybe Kevin could teach you, and that might be a good plan, too...right?"

"Wait," Arnold said. "Kevin could teach me? Oh man, that'd be even better. Best friend driving lessons! What d'ya think, buddy?"

In truth, the thought of teaching Arnold—or anyone else for that matter—how to drive sounded about as fun to Kevin as having his teeth ripped out, but he knew Arnold would eventually wear him down, so he just sighed. "Sure, pal," he said.

"Woo hoo!" Arnold did a little jig and ran the rest of the way to the car. "Slutty Batman's gonna learn how to drive the Batmobile! Oh, yeah! By the way, I call shotgun!"

Everyone piled into the car, Kevin and Arnold in the front while Connor, Brynn, and Naba squeezed in the back, and once Kevin started the engine Brynn told him, "Turn left out of the parking lot."

"Left?" Kevin raised his eyebrows as he pulled forward. "I thought you said we were heading downtown."

"We are, just not right now. The show doesn't start for two hours; we're going to a haunted house first."

Kevin hit the breaks right then and there. "No way," he said. "I never agreed to this."

"Aw, come on, bestie!" Arnold protested. "Haunted houses are so much fun!"

"Why on earth would you want to be scared for fun?" Kevin argued.

"Because it's Halloween! It comes with the territory!"

"And this one's not even that scary," Brynn added. "Which really fits in with the night's theme of cheapness and poor quality."

"Come on, Kevin, please?" Arnold asked. "It's gonna be awesome; your first haunted house!"

"Wait, you've never been to a haunted house before?" Naba raised an eyebrow. "Shit, even I've been to some and I haven't even lived here that long."

"Seriously," Connor added. "What's your deal, Kevin?"

From the tipsy drawl of his voice Kevin figured he was only half-paying attention and only chimed in for good measure, but nevertheless he answered Connor's question. "I never wanted to go to one before. And my parents always taught me to just say no to things that make me uncomfortable."

"Wow," Brynn said dryly. "I bet you were the star of DARE, weren't you?"

"As a matter of fact, I won a medal for writing the best completion essay in the entire fifth grade."

"Oh yeah?" she shot back. "Did you bring it to rehab with you?"

"Okay," Naba quickly interjected. "Brynn, maybe that was just a little too—"

"No, Naba, it's fine," Kevin snapped, putting the car back in drive and glaring at Brynn in the rearview mirror. "At least _**I**_ know how to keep an eye on my dog. Your mom's stupid little dachshund owes Bailey child support, you know that? Puppy support."

"Sure thing," Brynn replied. "I'll tell him to get off his ass and find a damn job."

"You do that," Kevin said as he reached the parking lot exit "You said turn left, didn't you?"

"Right." He then proceeded to abruptly turn right onto the street. "Kevin, what're you—shit, no, I meant _right_ as in _correct_ , dumbass."

"Well then why didn't you say _correct_? And you're calling _**me**_ the dumbass?"

"Whatever, just make a U-turn at this light."

"It says no U-turns."

"Make one anyway."

"But that's illegal," Kevin protested. "I'll just turn around at that gas station up there."

"Ugh, fine. Did you get a hundred on your damn driver's test, too?"

Kevin smiled proudly. "I was the best student in driver's ed," he replied.

"What a sad little thing to brag about."

"Guys, guys, guys!" Connor cut in before Kevin could interject, nudging Naba's shoulder as he stared out the window. "This gas station. I _**love**_ this gas station. One time, I came here to fill up my car, so I put my card in, and then I got the gas, and then I got my receipt and drove away. Like, this is a really good gas station."

Naba, Arnold, and Brynn all turned to give Connor a bemused look while Kevin pulled into the lot to change directions. "Just how drunk are you right now?" Naba asked. When he took another sip from his Taco Bell cup, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Did you fill that cup with wine?"

"Um...no," he said unconvincingly. "But then again maybe I possibly did."

"What the hell?" Brynn snapped. "That's fucking brilliant! Why didn't you tell me you were doing that?"

"Because we didn't have much left, and I wanted it."

"Bitch. I hope you don't get laid tonight."

"Fine," Connor retorted. "And I hope you _**do**_ get laid, and it's horribly mediocre."

"Well, I hope you get pregnant."

"Then I hope you get audited by the IRS, and it's a long and stressful process."

"Oh my God, both of you shut up," Kevin finally said. "Nobody's getting laid or audited tonight, okay?"

"Speak for yourself," Brynn replied.

"Yeah, really," Arnold added. "I mean, the IRS is everywhere."

"They're really not, but never mind," Kevin sighed. "And Connor, chug that down or something, because I'm not risking getting pulled over with an open container."

The haunted house Brynn directed them to turned out to be a large old farmhouse on the outskirts of town. "Oh, this place! Awesome," Arnold said as they stepped outside. "They say the man who used to live here killed his wife, you know that? Just hacked her up with an axe and fled town to avoid getting caught. Still out there. Scary, isn't it? Makes you want to, uh, hold someone for support, right?"

He gave Naba a little nudge, and she rolled her eyes. "It takes more than a little story about an axe murderer to scare me," she said.

"Besides, it's not even true," Kevin said. "I have no clue how that story got started, but his wife died of a stroke and he moved to Houston to live with his son."

"A likely story. How do _**you**_ know?" Arnold said.

"Because I've lived here my whole life, aside from Uganda, and they went to my church." He gazed up at the house and frowned. "It feels a little weird to be going inside their house."

Brynn shook her head and grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. "It's not their house anymore, it's some other asshole's house," she said. "No backing out after we came all this way."

They knocked on the door and were immediately greeted by a man in scrubs. "Welcome to our asylum," he said.

Brynn wrinkled her nose as she stepped inside. "Ew, is that the idea they went with this year?"

"Oh no," Arnold looked over at Kevin with concern in his eyes. "I hope this isn't triggering for you." Kevin just rolled his eyes and followed Brynn.

The place appeared to be going for some sort of weird mental hospital meets zombie apocalypse theme; the first people they encountered were a young man and woman with ratty hair, empty eyes, and deathly makeup wandering around in tattered hospital gowns.

"Play with me," the girl said, approaching Kevin. She had a large stitch painted across her face. "Won't you please come play with me?"

"Play with us," the guy added as he joined her. Kevin took a step back, slightly creeped out.

"They can't touch you," Arnold assured him.

The girl ignored that and held out a small rag doll, the head barely hanging on by a thread. "Will you fix my dollie?" she said. "Please?"

He knew of course that it was just an act, but with her standing right in front of him like that, he couldn't help but pity her. "Um, I can try," he said.

The moment he reached his hand out, she screamed. "Don't touch my dollie!" Kevin yelped and jumped back, and Brynn snickered.

"Oh, shut up," he said defensively. Just then, the fake doctor opened the door once more, and Connor and Naba came hurrying in.

"Sorry it took us so long," she said. "We found a stray cat and Connor wanted to pet it."

"It was a tabby," Connor added cheerfully. When the male zombie patient approached him, he grinned. "Hey there, cutie," he said with a wink, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. The guy did a little double take, then slowly backed away to approach Naba instead.

They moved down the hallway after that, and Kevin tried to ignore the flickering lights and artificial hospital look and imagine the house as the warm, homey place it probably was every other day of the year.

"Now just so you know, Naba," Arnold said, puffing his chest out and flexing his non-existent arm muscles. "If you get a little scared, I'm here to protect you. Just say the word and—" As he walked past the first door someone inside started screaming and pounding their fists against it, and he let out a terrified squeak and threw himself against Kevin, hugging him tightly.

"I'll keep that in mind," Naba said with a giggle.

Together, they made their way through six different rooms full of various evil doctors, creepy patients, and weird experiments. Kevin and Arnold jumped every time something startled them while Naba and Brynn stood by and giggled. It was only at room number seven that they realized they'd lost Connor somewhere along the way. Retracing their steps, they found he was nowhere in sight.

"He's gotta be around here somewhere," Brynn said, stepping around the surgeon dissecting what was clearly a gussied-up mannequin in room one. "Let's head down to the others."

They finally found him in one of the last rooms upstairs, sitting in a metal chair and chatting with a girl dressed up as a rag doll.

"But yeah, you should totally come see _Urinetown_ , it's gonna be great," he was saying. "Did you know that, when it opened on Broadway, it won the Tony for Best Book and Score but lost Best Musical to _Thoroughly Modern Millie_? Some people are still mad about that, but honestly I'm sure they both deserved it."

"The doctor took my organs," the girl replied hollowly.

"Yes, I know, you said that already." Connor waved a hand dismissively. "But you seem to be doing fine without them, so get over it. You're not a very good actor if that's the only line you can come up with. That's why you should see the musical."

"Okay, time to go." Kevin stepped forward and grabbed Connor's arm, pulling him up. "This place is freaking me out, and now you're picking on a teenage girl." Gradually they all headed back down to the foyer and outside once more, Connor giving that first patient one last flirtatious wink along the way (to which he averted his eyes).

"Okay," Kevin said once they were back in the car. "Where the hell is this stupid theater at?"

"The Bubble?" Brynn asked. "It's not really a theatre, more like a trashy club they've set up a stage and screen at. Head in the direction of downtown and I'll direct you from there."

Brynn wasn't wrong about The Bubble; it really was trashy. Many people were already there, most of them in costume and several already clearly drunk.

"Whatever you do here, don't use the bathroom," Brynn called over the music. "It always smells like someone took a moldy shit on the floor and then puked on it." She and Connor then hurried off toward the bar.

"Oh, man, this is awesome," Arnold said happily, surveying all the folding chairs set up around the makeshift stage and screen. "What a crazy Halloween, am I right? This reminds me of that time we went clubbing freshman year. Remember that, guys?" He gave Kevin a playful nudge and added, "Well, maybe _**you**_ don't."

"Oh, I remember it, all right. No matter how much I try to forget." Kevin watched as Connor and Brynn stepped up to the bar, and Brynn leaned forward to show off her cleavage, immediately grabbing the bartender's attention. With a sweet smile and a little flip of her long thick hair, she began rattling off what he figured must've been her and Connor's orders. Kevin rolled his eyes.

"Hey, guys!" Kevin spun back around at the sound of Jami's voice. She was standing there smiling with her arm wrapped around Chris, and Kevin just laughed when he fully took in their costumes.

"Are you two Flo from Progressive and Mayhem from Allstate?" he asked. "That's adorable."

"We stole it off Buzzfeed," Chris said with a grin. He quirked an eyebrow at Kevin's own outfit. "Don't you look interesting."

Kevin squirmed uncomfortably. "Shut up, Naba made me wear it." Out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn away from her conversation with Arnold to smirk wickedly at him, and he shot her a glare. "I didn't even want to be here; I wanted to hand out candy at my parents' house with ghost-Bailey."

"Oh my God, Brynn told me about Bailey!" Jami said with an excited little clap of her hands. "I can't wait to see her puppies; I want one. Dachshund, border collie, and Australian shepherd mix puppies; those are gonna be so cute! I wasn't lying, I really do want one. I've been planning to get a dog for a while. Can I have one?"

"Um, yeah, sure," Kevin replied. "I mean, we don't know how many there'll be yet, but assuming everything goes okay there's gotta be at least one, so we can save it for you."

"Really? Thanks!"

"No problem. I just hope there's not too many."

"You'll have to start thinking of a name," Chris told Jami. "You should name it Poptart; it's gender neutral."

"I'm not naming it Poptart," she replied. "Nice try there, buddy."

He laughed and asked, "Where's Connor?"

Kevin cocked his head over to the bar, where he and Brynn were now doing shots. Chris nodded. "I should've guessed," he said. "Well, have fun with that. See ya." The two of them headed off to talk to some other friend, and Naba tapped Kevin on the shoulder.

"We're going to get drinks," she said. "Do you want anything?"

Kevin gave her a negative but still trailed behind them up to the counter. As Naba ordered a beer for herself and a vodka Sprite for Arnold, Connor stood up from his seat and sidled up to Kevin.

"Are you getting anything?" he asked. Kevin gulped and shook his head.

"You should, sweetie," Connor said with a little giggle, rubbing Kevin's shoulder with one hand and almost spilling his plastic shot cup with the other.

Skin tingling and voice tight, Kevin somehow managed to reply, "No thanks, I'm good."

Connor hastily downed the shot and let the cup fall to the floor. "Of course you are," he said, pressing up against Kevin and playing with the other's tie. "You're _**so**_ good. And you look so hot in those tight little pants, you know that? Did you wear those just to get me riled up?"

Kevin's breath hitched, and he could smell the alcohol on Connor's own. This wasn't right; Connor was drunk and sloppy and standing in the middle of a shitty rundown club. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, and it was absolutely _**nothing**_ like how their romance played out in Kevin's dreams—

Wait.

No, he wasn't supposed to think about those.

"Oh my God," Kevin was jerked back to the present as Connor stared at someone on the other side of the room and then ducked his head. "My boss is here. Crap."

"What?" Kevin asked, resisting the urge to let out a sigh of relief at the distraction. "Which boss?"

"Heather. Heather Lehr, Assistant Hall Director. Over there in the cheerleader costume. God, what the hell do I do? What if she sees me? I'm a total mess right now."

Kevin twisted his head to give the woman—maybe three or four years older than them at the very most—a once-over. "I wouldn't worry about it. Looks like she's a mess right now, too."

"True." Connor replied. Then he plastered his grin back on his face and started forward. "Heather! Hey, girl!"

"Wait," Kevin called. "Maybe that's not the best…" It was too late, Connor had already joined her. Kevin let out a little huff of annoyance, and then he laid eyes on someone a few feet away from Heather, and his eyes widened.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, turning away and almost running right into Brynn.

"What's up?" she said.

"Connor just found his boss," he said. "And now I just found mine. Jared, from Starbucks. Can we go?"

"What? No, we just got here! Like anyone in this place can judge you."

"It's not that," Kevin corrected her. "He's totally gonna call me out if he sees me, and I do not want to talk to him while he's drunk. He's a bro, and he went to the University of Illinois."

"What's wrong with Illinois?"

"Nothing, he just _**really**_ likes Illinois and it's awful. Look at him," Kevin gestured over in his direction. "He's wearing their flag as a cape. He literally dressed up as Illinois for Halloween. So please, I really don't want to talk to him, so can we go?"

Brynn didn't say anything, and Kevin really didn't like the look in her eye. "Don't you dare," he said.

Undeterred, Brynn shouted out, "Hey! Jared!" Jared looked up and grinned when he spotted Kevin.

"Check it out! It's the Kevster!" He said, starting toward them.

"I fucking hate you," Kevin whispered to Brynn, then he smiled at Jared. "Hi," he said with feigned cheer, stepping back a little to avoid his chest bump. "How's it going? I thought I asked you not to call me the Kevster?"

"Sure thing, Kevster! You here for the show? I came with bae, can't find her now though. Her loss!" Raising his hand for a high five, he shouted, "Let's go, Illinois!"

Kevin reluctantly met his palm. "All right!" he said through gritted teeth and a fake smile. "Illinois!"

"Woo! Illinois!" Arnold danced his way into their group then, slopping half his drink onto the floor. "Woohoo! Why're we cheering about Illinois? Cool place, right?"

"Hell yeah!" Jared held out his hand for a fist bump, which Arnold enthusiastically returned. "Illinois!"

"Yeah, Illinois!" Arnold shouted. "Land of Lincoln! Woo, Abraham Lincoln!" He began dancing with a little more verve then, singing a tune Kevin didn't recognize. " _America sings for you! Will they know what you overcame, will they know you rewrote the game...I am not throwing away my shot!_ Abraham Lincoln! Yeah!"

Kevin just stood there next to Naba, watching as his best friend and boss celebrated the twenty-first state. "What the hell is he carrying on about?" he asked.

Naba shrugged. "Connor plays a lot of show tunes in the car and Arnold only half-listens," she replied. Before he could ask for more clarification, the music died down and everyone began settling into the seats.

"Were you doing Jell-O shots with your boss?" Brynn asked Connor when he joined them.

"Yep," he replied, slurping on yet another alcoholic beverage of some sort. Kevin deliberately ensured there was at least one seat separating them, sitting between Naba and Brynn.

"Everyone," a voice called over the speakers. "Give it up for tonight's Dr. Frank-N-Furter, Miss Bianca Royale!"

Kevin's stomach sank when he heard the name, and while everyone else clapped he leaned over to Naba and whispered, "Is that the drag queen I tried to upstage freshman year by saying it was my birthday?"

"I think so," she answered, and Kevin groaned.

"Well, well, well, boys and girls." Bianca stepped up on stage, fully decked out in her Frank-N-Furter costume. "Who's ready for _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_?" As the audience cheered, Kevin muttered, "Why is she here? I thought we were watching a movie."

"We are," Brynn said. "She's gonna be acting on stage." When Kevin stared at her blankly, she continued, "The film plays on screen while people also act it out on stage. Have you seriously never heard of any of this before?"

"Now, I think a lot of us know what's coming," Bianca was saying. "Before we can get started, we need a virgin sacrifice. Where the hell are my virgins at?"

"Oh!" Arnold leapt up in excitement. "Oh, I know! Kevin! My best friend, he's a virgin! Not me, though; I've had the sex."

Kevin scowled at Arnold and ducked his head in embarrassment, while Brynn snapped, "She means people who haven't seen the show, dumbass."

"Oh, really? Okay," Arnold said. "Well, that still fits Kevin! Pick Kevin, pick him!"

"Arnold, stop," Kevin hissed.

"Kevin, huh?" Bianca peered her head out toward their row. "Come on up, Kevin!"

Kevin shrunk down in his seat, ignoring the coaxing from Naba and Brynn.

"Looks like he's shy. Let's give him some encouragement," Bianca said. "Everyone, say it with me: _Kevin, slut, let's go_!"

Kevin's cheeks burned as the entire room began chanting that, and once it finally became too much, he slowly stood up and made his way to the stage, glaring at his friends who howling in laughter at him while Bianca called up some other random girl.

"Let's start with our first little virgin here." Kevin squirmed as Bianca approached him, hoping beyond hope she wouldn't recognize him. Thankfully at least one thing was working in his favor, and she didn't appear to.

"Now, your boo said you were Kevin, correct?" He nodded his head, voice caught in his throat, and she added, "And this is your first time? Let's give it up for Kevin!"

She continued after the applause died down. "So how about that costume, Kevin? Looking awful tasty in those leather pants, there. Tell us all about yourself."

She held the mic out, and he remained speechless. "Speak up, son," she snapped. "Keep in mind I decide your fate here. Bitches better cooperate."

He wished the ground would swallow him whole. As much as he loved attention, this was _**not**_ where he wanted to receive it. Not in this hovel in front of all these drunkards while wearing these stupid pants. Still, he cleared his throat.

"Um, well, I'm Kevin," he began lamely. "I like science, math, coffee, and Disney. Um...yeah."

"Disney, huh? Who's your favorite character?"

Now he felt himself relax a bit. Okay, he could do this. He could talk Disney. "Oh boy, that's a tough one," he said. "If I had to choose, I'd say...well, I guess Lilo. She reminds me of my friend Arnold." Not that Arnold was his favorite person at the moment.

"Okay then, Kevin, here's what you've gotta do for your virgin sacrifice," Bianca stated. "Give us your best impression of little Lilo having an orgasm."

Kevin's jaw dropped, and he looked over at Bianca, scandalized. "Um, I— _ **what**_?" He sputtered. "She's a child!"

"So we'll age her up. Let's say she's twenty now," Bianca told him. "You're not leaving my stage until you show us what you think Lilo's like on cloud nine."

Kevin still stood dumbly with his mouth hanging open, absolutely mortified. No way. No way in hell was he gonna humiliate himself like this in front of all these people. But then he locked eyes with Brynn, saw her smirk— _she knows I'm trying to get out of it; she doesn't think I can do it_ —and his competitive instincts kicked in. He shut his mouth, stood up a little straighter, and gave the best example of a generic orgasm he could come up with on the spot.

"Ah, yes, yes, Oh God _**yes**_ , harder, right there, that's it, oh, yes, do it to me, Elvis, _**do it to me**_ —ah, ah, yes, AAHH!" he shrieked out in between gasps. Then he looked over at Bianca's perplexed face and explained, "Lilo had a crush on Elvis Presley, remember?"

"Right," Bianca said. "Give it up for Kevin, everyone. Now sit your ass down." Kevin hurried back to his seat as she moved on to the other virgin, trying to ignore his friends' snickers.

" _Do it to me, Elvis_ ," Naba mimicked.

"Shut up. I hate all y'all."

After the other virgin had to do something or other involving a lap dance, the show began. Honestly, Kevin had no idea what was going on. It was the weirdest damn movie he'd ever seen in his entire life, not one person on the stage was even remotely a decent actor, and everyone just so into it, shouting things and holding up newspapers and throwing rice into the air. Kevin just didn't get it.

The worst part, though, was when Dr. Frank-N-Furter introduced his experiment Rocky, and Connor immediately began drooling over the muscular blond man in tight gold shorts on stage.

"He's so hot," he told Brynn, his words slurring together just a little.

"I know," she responded. "I want to run my tongue along every single one of those perfect abs."

"I want to go down on him."

Naba frowned and leaned over Kevin to say, "I thought you had a gag reflex and hated doing that."

Connor shrugged. "I'd make an exception for him."

Kevin's mood went considerably downhill after that. Finally, when they made it to the end and the actors took their bows, he asked Arnold, "Do you have any idea what we just watched? Because I don't."

"Not really," Arnold said cheerfully. "But hey, fun times anyway, right?"

"All right, all right!" Bianca said into the mic. "Our show's over, but Halloween ain't. Let's get the music back on and keep this party going all night! And hey, one more round of applause for our sexy Rocky here, joining us all the way from Denver!"

As everyone clapped, that blond idiot Kevin had decided he hated stepped back up to take another bow. "He's in town visiting his folks, but Mamma don't know he's here with us. And don't worry, boys and girls; he's bisexual, single, and looking to mingle, so you _**all**_ have a chance with him tonight." Several people either laughed or cheered at that, and Kevin rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time.

Most of the chairs were cleared out or shoved to the side, and the music started back up again. Jami and Chris took their leave soon after. Kevin wished more than anything he could join them, but he didn't want to leave his other friends without a ride, and none of them seemed to have any desire to go home. So he ordered a simple Coke from the bar and chatted with Naba for a bit, watching Arnold make an idiot of himself on the dance floor without even being drunk.

_At least he's having fun_ , a nagging voice in the back of his head chastised. _What are_ **you** _doing_?

_Shut up_ , he thought back. Okay, now he was arguing with himself. Great.

Eventually Naba went to join Arnold, and Kevin was left by himself at the bar. He surveyed the room, and paused when he spotted Connor and Brynn at a couple of seats in the corner. They were with that Rocky guy (now dressed in a tight T-shirt and a dark pair of jeans), both fawning over him while he sat there clearly enjoying the attention. Kevin wrinkled his nose in disgust and looked away.

"Okay, all you hoes, focus back on me," Bianca called as she strutted back on stage, now sporting a huge wig, stilettos, a sexy nurse's costume. "I know it's Halloween, but I'm sure we've still got some birthday bitches out there. Anyone wanna speak up?"

Kevin glanced back in the corner to see none of the three even paying attention. When Connor began playing with Rocky's hair, he heard himself call out without even thinking about it. "Me!"

_Oh, shit. Not again. Well, no turning back now_. Head held high, he made his way back on stage, trying not to show any of the anxiety he felt. What had he been thinking? What was it Arnold had told him about how he was able to lie so quickly? Something like _I just say the first thing that comes to mind_. Maybe he'd have to try it.

"Kevin!" Bianca said when he reached her side. "You again, huh? A Rocky Horror virgin _**and**_ a birthday bitch, I see."

He'd have to be fun and sassy enough to divert Connor's attention from that Rocky asshole. _First thing that comes to mind, Kevin_. "Well I'm not a virgin anymore, am I?" He said with a flirty little wink.

"True, true. So you were born on Halloween, were you?"

"That's right." Giving a devilish smirk at the audience, he said, "Trick or treat, bitches."

"Well, well, well, I see someone's shed his virgin skin! Far cry from that sad little orgasm you had up here earlier. How old are you today, Kevin?"

"Thirty-five."

Bianca gave him a nonplussed look. "Look awful young to be thirty-five, son. Either you're full of shit, or I wanna know your secret."

"Maybe I'm born with it," Kevin retorted. Then, with another wink, he added, "Maybe it's Maybelline." As several people laughed, he started to see just for a moment why Connor loved being on stage so much. Having all eyes on him was such a rush.

Okay, clearly not _**all**_ eyes. He looked back over into the corner to see Connor's and Rocky's lips locked, while Brynn sucked on Rocky's neck and he groped her backside. Kevin stepped off stage while Bianca told him to get himself a free drink from the bar, but he barely even registered the words.

"You sure do have a lot of birthdays, don't you?" Naba commented with a sly smile when he reached her and Arnold.

"Yeah, yeah," he said dryly. "Do you want my free drink? What d'you want me to get you?"

"Another beer, please. Thanks!"

He made his way up to the bar and breathed a sigh of relief when they simply handed him the drink without checking to ensure it actually was his birthday. By the time he made it back, Naba and Arnold were doubled-over in their seats with some weird combination of shock and laughter.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"You missed it," Arnold said in between snorts. "Brynn and Connor just left with that Rocky dude."

"We think they're gonna have a three-way," Naba added, taking the beer from Kevin.

For the second time that night, Kevin's jaw dropped. "They _**left**_ with him?" he cried. "And you're both okay with that?!"

"They will be fine. Brynn's pretty smart about protection and all that." Naba said. "Besides, I cannot wait to give them shit about this tomorrow."

"Right," Kevin said flatly. "Can we go after you finish your beer?"

"I am fine with that," she replied. "I'm getting a little tired anyway. What about you, Arnold?"

"Sure, we can leave." Arnold said. "Oh man, what a night. Best Halloween ever!"

* * *

_The Next Morning_

"Brynn," Connor perched at the edge of the bed and have her shoulder a little shake. "Brynn, wake up."

She groaned, rolled over, and squinted up at him. "How the hell are you sentient right now?" she asked, voice weak and gravelly.

He ignored that and said, "Come on, get dressed so we can get out of here."

"Where exactly are we?"

"Rocky's hotel room."

She looked at him in confusion for a few seconds, and then realization seemed to hit and she sighed. "Oh, right. That," she said, clutching at her forehead and wincing. "Fuck."

"He's not here right now," Connor went on. "I don't know where he's at, but let's get out of here before he comes back and this gets more awkward than it already is."

Brynn didn't seem to need any more convincing. Connor looked away as she pulled herself out of bed, and in record time, they had left the hotel and were seated in the little coffee shop across the street. Connor was wearing the same clothes from the night before (minus the cat ears) while Brynn sported her boots with a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants she'd stolen from Rocky's suitcase, the dominatrix costume stored away in one of the hotel laundry bags.

Brynn took a sip of her chai tea. "Maybe no one saw us leave with him," she said. "And they won't ask any questions."

Connor shook his head. "We definitely aren't that lucky. Check your texts."

She pulled out her phone and groaned. "Those damn bitches. I blame you," she told him. "Naba said you told her you weren't gonna go crazy like this anymore. You could've stopped this if you'd stuck with that."

"I meant I wasn't gonna go crazy and put myself in danger," he shot back. "I figured I'd be fine last night because I was with friends who could keep me in line and wouldn't abandon me."

"Hey, don't look at me like that. I didn't abandon you, I was with you the whole way, remember? The whole fucking way."

Connor sighed and took a sip of his own water. "True," he said. "Confession time: Rocky wasn't the worst thing I did last night. I also hit on Kevin." When her eyebrows shot up, he elaborated, "Like, I _**really**_ hit on him. It was terrible."

"Connor, you need to get over him."

"I'm not into him," he countered. "I don't know what Naba's told you, but even if I used to have a tiny, _**tiny**_ crush on him, it isn't an issue anymore."

"Bullshit."

"No really, I…" Upon seeing her unconvinced expression, he sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Basically, yeah. Everyone and their second cousin knows. The president of the university probably knows. My mom's dog knows. Literally, everyone."

"Gee, that _**really**_ makes me feel better. Have you ever thought of becoming a counselor?"

"Look, the point is, you're into Kevin and you have to move on. I don't what his deal is, but you're definitely not getting anywhere with him. He's a mess and weirdly into Orlando. Hell, you'd have to dress up in a damn Mickey Mouse costume to even vaguely turn him on."

Connor let out a snort of laughter at that and took another sip of water. "You're not telling me anything I don't know," he said. "I gave up on him a long time ago. But that doesn't mean I don't think about him. A lot, actually."

"It'll get easier," she said. "One day we'll all graduate, and you'll go to New York while he's off at some second-tier grad program not nearly as highly ranked as my own, and you won't see him anymore and won't think about him as much."

Connor swirled the ice in his cup as he listened to her words. That actually sounded awful. He'd always known in the back of his mind that he and Kevin would eventually go their separate ways, but hearing it so blatantly almost made his heart ache. Even so, he looked over at Brynn and forced a smile.

"I suppose," he said. "Why are you telling me this, though? I always figured trying to help people wasn't your thing."

"It's not. But now that we've seen each other naked and we made out to impress some shitty guy, we have a connection."

They both met eyes and promptly dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Right," Connor said once he'd recovered. "Oh, and speaking of that, I just have to say, you're seriously gorgeous. Really, you should definitely be proud of—" he vaguely gestured over at her. "Um, all this."

"Aw, thanks. You're pretty attractive yourself, you know that? By the way, do any of the others know about that raven tattoo on your hip?"

Connor grinned conspiratorially and shook his head, holding up his arm. "They think I only have this one."

"That's kind of badass, Connor McKinley." She downed the rest of her tea and picked up her phone. "Okay, which one of those fuckers should we call for a ride home?"

"Jami. She'll be kinder."

"My thoughts exactly."

* * *


	38. I Tipped Well

_**Junior Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 38: I Tipped Well**

The next month flew by in a whirlwind. Connor gave a spectacular performance in the school musical, he and Kevin moved on from the awkwardness of his drunken Halloween flirtation without really mentioning it all, Thanksgiving break came and went, and before anyone knew it, Bailey's puppies were born.

She'd had them at the Price household about two and a half weeks prior, and Arnold had yet to be able to see them; all he knew was that there were four and that, according to Kevin, they were all adorable. Bailey had been very protective of them initially, but now that they'd opened their eyes she was starting to become more comfortable with other people around them. Thus, Arnold was now bouncing in excitement as Kevin drove them over.

"Hey, Kev," he began. "Have you found homes for all of them?"

"Most of them," he replied. "Katie talked Mom and Dad into letting her keep one. She chose the big fat one and named him Max. Jami and Naba both claimed puppies; I guess they'll pick them out today. That just leaves one."

"Can I have it?" Arnold asked.

"No." Kevin didn't even pause to think about it.

"What? Why not?"

"Because I know how this is gonna go, Arnold," Kevin replied firmly. "You're only going to want to deal with the fun stuff, and I'll be stuck with the potty training and vet bills and morning walks. No way."

"That's not gonna happen," Arnold assured him. "I'll take real good care of the puppy all by myself; I promise! Please?"

Kevin shook his head. "You say that now," he said. "And then when you actually have to do it, you'll change your tune real quick. A dog isn't like a game that you can set aside when you get bored. And puppies are even more work."

"I know that," Arnold said. "I've seen you with Bailey; I know what's involved. But I can do it. I want to be more responsible. Please?"

Kevin chewed at his bottom lip, and Arnold knew he was conflicted.

"Please, best friend?" he persisted. "I'll prove it to you. I'll prove I can be a good dog daddy. _**Pleeeaase**_?"

"Fine," Kevin relented. "But you damn well better follow through. I love all those puppies, and I want them to be treated well."

"I will!" Arnold hopped up and down in his seat. "Thanks, Kevin! You can teach me everything you know about dogs. Just like you're gonna teach me how to drive."

"I'm still trying to figure out how I got roped into that," Kevin replied. "Well it's not gonna be for a while, since _**somebody**_ hasn't even started studying for the written permit test."

"Yeah yeah. I will, okay? Eventually."

"Take your time. Honestly, I probably won't have time to teach you until summer anyway."

"That's fine. I'm just glad I get to learn. My mom was always afraid I'd crash and die."

"Was she?" Kevin said with a playful little grin. "Now I'm not so sure I want to teach you. I mean, if your own mother didn't even trust you—"

"Hey! Not cool. You've met my mother; this is the woman that used to drive to school every day at lunchtime to bring me my lunch, because she was afraid I'd lose it otherwise."

" _ **Would**_ you have lost it, though?"

"Not the point."

Kevin laughed as he pulled into his parents' driveway, noting that Connor's and Poptarts's cars were already parked. When he and Arnold stepped inside, they found the others already seated in the living room.

"Hey," Connor said, smiling up at Kevin. "Your mom let us in. She offered to show us the puppies, but we figured we should let you do the honors."

Kevin chuckled. "Good; I would've been annoyed if you'd already seen them," he replied. "Come on, the puppy pen's back this way."

He led them all into the dining room, where a short wooden fence separated off the back corner. Inside the pen, Bailey lay on a large dog bed, nursing four tiny, adorable balls of fluff.

"Oh my God," Naba cooed, kneeling down on the floor by the pen. "They are so cute."

"Aren't they?" Kevin agreed. "Even though they have half of Brynn's mom's dumb old dachshund in them. I guess Bailey's better genes won out."

"Hey now," Brynn snapped, joining Naba on the floor. "Oscar's hella cute."

"Whatever." Then Kevin smiled proudly and added, "I built the pen. It keeps the puppies in, but it's short enough that Bailey can come and go as she pleases."

"Good idea," Jami said. When one of the puppies pulled away from Bailey and started forward, she asked, "Can we pet them?"

"Of course," Kevin replied. He watched as she reached out to stroke the puppy's fur, and explained, "That one's the only girl. It looks like she likes you! She was the first one to be born."

The other three puppies gradually joined their sister, and Connor reached forward to pick up the smallest one.

"Look at you," he told the pup sweetly. "You're the runt, you know that?"

"I know, he's so tiny," Kevin said, stepping inside the pen and picking up the empty water bowl. "I think he's gonna show the most dachshund out of all of them."

He made his way into kitchen to refill it, and after returning he settled down by Bailey and patted her head, watching as the others played with the puppies.

"I love _**all**_ of them," Arnold happily declared.

"Me too. And check it out, they're all different," Kevin said, gesturing to the front paws on each puppy. "Max here, he's got black paws, and then she's got brown paws, while this other one has white paws, and this little guy?" He finally made his way over to the runt. "Well, he's got one white paw and one brown paw. How cute is that?"

"That is cute," Chris said. "Where are your other dogs at?"

"Milo and Maggie? Outside. Bailey gets mad if Milo comes near them. It's not really a problem, though; she just growls and he steps away."

He stood back up and put his hands on his hips, surveying the pups. "Let's see, what else can I tell you about them?" he began. "Max and the girl are the ones with the most energy. She's kind of a bully, actually; we've gotta watch her. I think she'll grow out of it, though. And the one with the white paws is the most calm." The he gestured over to the small one Connor was still holding. "I don't know about this little guy; he seems kind of stupid. Whenever we let them out in the backyard, the rest of them all go one way while he runs the other, and then gets lost. Then Bailey has to bring him back. Like I said, he's the dumb one."

"Rude," Arnold said. "I don't think Bailey appreciates you calling her children stupid. Look at her; what a proud, proud parent. You're gonna piss her off, Kev."

"No, I'm not. She knows he's stupid just as well as I do. Anyhow, who's taking which one?"

"I want this one," Jami said, picking up the girl. "She chose me. I think I'm gonna name her Ariel."

"Seriously?" Chris teased. "Lame."

"Shut up, Poptarts," Kevin said. "Jami, don't listen to him. That's a great name for her."

"Heck yeah it is," she said, sticking her tongue out at her boyfriend.

"I suppose I'll take this one, then," Naba said with a little smile as she pet the larger of the two remaining males, the one with the white feet. "I will call him Samwise from _Lord of the Rings_. Sam for short."

"Oh, that's the perfect name for him!" Arnold said before taking the runt from Connor. "I guess this little guy's mine, then. The stupid one, as you put it." He held the dog out in front of him and cooed. "But you're not stupid, are you? That's right, mean old Kevin just doesn't understand you. So what should I call you, little buddy? Frodo? Nah, you don't look like a Frodo. Hmm…"

"Oh, you should name him Dug!" Kevin suggested brightly. "Like the dog from _Up_."

"No, you should name him Poptart," Chris said.

Kevin looked over at him with a frown. "We're not naming him Poptarts," he said firmly. "Didn't you suggest Jami name hers that a while back? Why do you keep saying this? We call _**you**_ Poptarts; that'll just get confusing."

"No, not Poptarts, I said Poptart," Chris corrected. "Singular, not plural. It's completely different."

"It doesn't sound different at all," Kevin pointed out.

"No, no, I like it," Arnold said, looking out at the pup and smiling. "Poptart. It suits him. Yeah, that'll be his name."

Kevin balked. "Seriously? What now we have a Poptart _**and**_ a Poptarts? That's just ridiculous."

"I think it's cute," Connor chimed in.

Naba nodded as she scratched Sam's belly. "Me too."

"And I don't really give a shit," Brynn added.

"You see, Kevin?" Arnold said triumphantly. "Naba and Connor think it's cute, and Brynn doesn't give a shit. You've been overruled."

Kevin clearly wasn't about to let this go. "You can't have that puppy if you name him that, Arnold."

"Not how it works, buddy. No taksies-backsies. You gave me this dog, and his name's Poptart."

Kevin groaned in frustration. "Ugh, fine. I hate all of you. Anyway, I want them to stay with Bailey until they're at least eight weeks old, maybe a little longer depending on their development. Then they can each go with you three. And if any of you are crappy dog parents, I'm totally gonna know about it."

"We'll treat them well," Jami assured him.

"Good." Kevin looked at all the puppies and grinned. "Well, how about that, little ones? You all have names now! Max, Ariel, Sam, and then there's Poptart. A stupid name for a stupid pup."

"Don't listen to him," Arnold told the dog, holding him possessively. "He's just jealous because you're cuter and more popular than him, so—" He suddenly stopped and blanched. "Whoa, Poptart, are did you pee on me? Yep, you peed on me. Here, Kevin, you take him."

He held the puppy out to Kevin, and Kevin accepted him with pursed lips. Yep, he should've listened to his gut. Letting Arnold have a dog of his own was probably gonna be a total disaster.

* * *

_A Couple Days Later_

This was it.

The big moment, the one Arnold had been working toward all semester. His first draft of his final short story was now complete. Arnold had been saving his best work for last, and now he wanted to show his friends.

Except he couldn't, he realized when he spotted Connor and Naba in the union. Because his friends were currently fighting.

Their voices were low, so he couldn't tell what they were saying when he approached. But judging by Connor's tense, annoyed demeanor and Naba's death glare (which terrified Arnold but somehow didn't seem to deter Connor), they were definitely fighting.

"What's going on?" Arnold asked when he reached the table, settling into one of the empty seats.

"Nothing," Connor said quickly.

"Nothing, my ass," Naba retorted. "Connor is dating his professor."

"For the hundredth time, I'm _**not**_ dating my professor," Connor corrected her with an eye roll.

"Right. My mistake." She looked back over at Arnold and amended, "Connor is sleeping with his professor."

"Dude!" Arnold blinked at Connor in surprise. "Which one?"

"It's not like that," Connor protested. "He's not my professor."

"He _**was**_ , though," Naba countered, before answering Arnold's question. "It's his theatre history professor from last semester; Dr. Blakely."

"He's not a doctor," Connor said. "Heck, he's not even a full professor. He's an adjunct instructor who lives in Salt Lake and only teaches here when he's needed. The only reason I had him for that class was because the regular teacher was out on maternity leave." With a little smile, he added, "His apartment's amazing, by the way. It's this gorgeous loft in the Avenues."

"Oh, is that why you're fucking him?" Naba asked, brow raised. "For his apartment?"

Connor's smile quickly faded."No, Naba," he sneered. "I'm fucking him, as you put it, because he's attractive, kind, knows a lot of people in the theatre, and he's really good in bed."

Not really sure if he had a place in this conversation or not, Arnold decided to test the waters. "Those are good qualities, I suppose," he said with a little nod.

His efforts were met with a scowl from Naba. Okay, maybe siding with Connor instead of his girlfriend wasn't the best idea. He'd have to fix that.

"How old is this guy, anyway?" Naba asked.

"Forty-four," Connor replied.

"For real?" Arnold said. "Dude, no! That's almost twice your age!" There, fixed.

Or maybe not, judging by the angry look of betrayal Connor was now giving him. This was getting out of hand, especially since Arnold had no real opinion on the matter either way. All he wanted was to show them his awesome story. Fine, he'd just have to form a stance of neutrality.

"So?" Connor said in response to his comment, unaware of his internal debate. "We're both adults. And maybe I'm into older men; you don't know. Look, he's a good guy, okay?"

"Then why aren't you dating him?" Naba shot back. "If he's so great, why isn't it official?"

"Well, this only started recently."

"Then will it become official in the future?" she promptly asked.

"How would I know? Why are you grilling me on this like I've done something horribly wrong?"

"It's not _**you**_ I'm uncertain about," she said. "It's him. It just seems...what's the word, sleazy?"

"What's so sleazy about it? There's absolutely no policy prohibiting an adjunct—who isn't even teaching at this school right now, may I add—from having relations with a former student."

"That's true," Arnold said. "Well, I guess it's true. I'll take your word for it."

"Thank you, Arnold. Now can we just drop it?"

"Fine," Naba bit out. "I just question the integrity of a teacher who would think of any student that way, and that's all I'm going to say."

"Hmm, that's true, too. What an ethical dilemma." See? Completely neutral. Then he saw the annoyance on both of their faces and quickly added, "Okay, okay, dropping it."

Naba glanced down at her phone, and suddenly stood up. "Shit, I have to go before I'm late for A&P," she said.

"What? But wait, I just got here!" Arnold protested. "I have to show you something."

"You can show me later. Class starts in five minutes and it's across campus." Without further explanation she took off, leaving the others alone. Arnold's shoulders slumped.

"Man, I was gonna show her my story," he lamented.

"Oh, did you finish it?" Connor smiled. "Great job!"

"Thanks! It hasn't been workshopped yet, but I'm real proud of it so I thought I'd give my friends the first look." He dug through his bag and grabbed his creative writing folder, then pulled out the story and held it out to Connor. "Wanna read it? You get first dibs since you're here, and then I'll show it to Kevin and Naba later."

"Sure." Connor took the story, and his eyebrow quirked when he read the title. " _The Book of Ammon_?"

"Yep! So it's about this guy, right? Kinda nerdy, but cool. Anyhow, he goes on a mission to Somalia, and realizes his true potential, and becomes a real live prophet."

"I see." Connor flipped passed the title page. "And what class did you say this was for? Intro to, what was it, fiction writing?"

"Just because it may have been inspired by real life doesn't mean it's not fiction," Arnold said with a little huff. "Just read it, okay?"

Connor began reading without another word, and Arnold watched him nervously. He wished he could tell with Connor was thinking, but his expression remained passive. Twenty minutes later, he reached the end and slowly set the packet down in front of him on the table.

"So?" Arnold questioned. "Whatcha think?"

"It's...it's good," Connor said carefully. "It has potential. But are you sure you want to show this to Kevin?"

"Duh, of course I do!" This wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping for. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because...well, okay, this passage, for example." He picked up the story again and read aloud from the first page. " _Ammon was a real awesome guy. He was smart, handsome, and liked all the coolest things, but was still kind and level-headed. Kyle, on the other hand, was very full of himself and not nearly as interesting as he thought he was_." He started back up a Arnold without further comment.

"I don't see the problem," Arnold replied. "It's fiction. Just because Kyle and Kevin have a few things in common doesn't make them the same."

Connor shook his head and flipped through a couple more pages, and then let out a snort. " _After they met the Somalian villagers, their district leader Conner explained the rules and showed them their rooms. He pretended to be straight, but his crush on Ammon was pretty obvious_." He gave Arnold a bemused look. "Tell me you didn't _**actually**_ believe I had a crush on you."

Arnold shrugged. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. This is fiction."

"My name's spelled with an _o_ , not an _e_."

"Really?" Arnold frowned. "Huh, interesting—no wait, I mean, I know how your name is spelled, Connor. Conner with an _e_ is a completely different person, and a work of fiction at that."

"Arnold, come on. You're totally just written down what happened to us in Uganda, minus a few small details. This really is Kevin and I you're talking about."

Arnold threw up his hands in exasperation. "Okay, so what? Everything has inspiration, right?" He racked his brain until he landed upon one particularly fitting quote, and then dramatically held his hand up to his ear. "Oh, wait, what's that? Do you hear that? Oh, it's Monet! He's giving me a message from the other side. He says, I'm sorry for sitting at my pond in France and sketching those water lilies using actual water lilies as inspiration. Sorry to offend, Connor."

Connor crinkled his brow in confusion, and in the next few seconds his expression shifted from one of comprehension to outright disdain. "Of all the characters you could have pulled out of your repertoire, did you really just use Jenny Schecter on me?" He said. "Jenny freaking Schecter?! How do you even know about _The L Word_ , anyway?"

"Well, uh, don't tell Naba," Arnold began, leaning forward a little. "But those ladies have the sex an awful lot, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Right," Connor deadpanned slowly. Then he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, uh, anyway, moving on. I can't speak for Kevin, but it doesn't really bother me if you use me in your story. The thing is, though...if you want my honest opinion, I think it's a little unrealistic."

"What?! Connor, you of all people should know this really happened."

"I know that, but truth is stranger than fiction. As weird as it sounds, if you present this as a short story, as it is now, people are gonna think it's unrealistic."

Arnold ran his hand through his wild hair, feeling his heart sink. "Oh man, if you don't like it, just imagine what the workshop's gonna be like."

"I'm not saying I don't like it," Connor amended. "It just, it's a work in progress. And that's what the workshop's for, right? To make it better."

"Yeah, but the people in that class aren't nice about it like you are," Arnold said. "It's like a bunch of them are competing to have the most comments of them all. And like they have any room to talk; a lot of them aren't even that good! Like, here, look at this one!"

He reached back into his folder and pulled out one of his classmate's stories, flipping it open to a random page. "It's a story where the dude goes to Red Robin, and check it out: _The server led me to my seat. I took off my coat. I put my coat on the seat next to mine and then I sat down. She handed me a menu. I took the menu. She asked me what I would like to drink. I said Pepsi. She wrote it down and walked away. I opened the menu. I read the first page. There was nothing I wanted. I read the second page. I considered the_ —"

"Okay, I get it."

"It goes on like that forever! See, listen: _She brought me my bill. The bill was $18.21. I pulled my wallet out of my pocket. I took the cash out of my wallet and set it on the tray. I left one dollar as a tip. I tipped well. I always tip well. I stood up and picked up my coat. I put my coat on and_ —"

"Alright, enough!" Connor said. "My God, that's awful. And look, maybe—wait, did it really say that character tipped well?" he asked incredulously. "That's about five percent; what does he think tipping poorly looks like? People like that are the reason I'm broke."

"No offense, but I don't care about your livelihood right now," Arnold told him. "I mean, I do, but the thing is, I don't want them to be critical of my story, Connor. I didn't care about what they said about the earlier ones, but this one, well, it's based on my life's work! What if they think it's stupid?"

Connor sighed. "There's nothing anyone could think or say that would change the impact you've had, Arnold," he said. "You can't take their comments personally, no matter how catty they may be. Just consider how their feedback can benefit the work. And honestly, this is only the first of several writing classes you'll have. You're gonna improve so much over time that none of this will matter. Then you'll be able to come back to this story and make it, like, spectacular."

Arnold mulled it over and then nodded his head. "Huh, I guess that's true," he said with a little grin. "You're right; I'm gonna go into that workshop and make this story totally awesome! Thanks, Connor. This is why I miss having you as an RA sometimes."

Connor smiled. "Aww, that's so sweet of you."

"Except I guess I don't actually miss it," Arnold added, which wiped the smile off Connor's face. "Because being in an apartment with Kevin is great, and I have a dog now. And I wouldn't have been able to have one last year. Unless it was one of those cheer-up dogs, and Poptart isn't one of those. He's just a puppy and not ready for a job. So anyhow, if I'd had him while you were my RA, you would've written me up and taken him away."

"Actually, standard protocol dictates I'd have report it to the hall director on duty and let them handle it," Connor corrected. "But yes, I see your point."

"Awesome." Arnold threw everything back in his bag and hopped up. "Well, I'm off to go submit this for workshop."

"Wait," Connor called as he started to stride away. "Seriously, now I really want to know. Did you actually think I had a crush on you?"

Arnold stopped, turned back around, and shrugged. "In real life? I didn't really think about it either way. It wouldn't have been so crazy if you did though, because Naba's taught me to be more confident, so, well, everyone wants a piece of this." He gestured up and down across his figure and proudly elaborated, " _ **Everyone**_ wants to squeeze my manboobs."

Connor just stared at him blankly. "Right, okay" he said slowly. "Well, um, see ya."

"Yep! Oh, and Connor," he said offhandedly. "Make sure you use protection with that teacher dude, okay? You don't know where he's been putting it all these years."

Connor smiled tightly. "Bye, Arnold."

"I'm just saying, I don't want you to get herpes."

"Go take care of your story, Arn."

* * *

_That Evening_

Connor let his head fall back against the pillow and pulled the covers up over him, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about his bare skin. "I love your bed," he told Charles Blakely.

Charles grinned. "You should. This mattress was expensive as hell." He propped himself up on his elbow and looked over at Connor. "You seem preoccupied."

"Do I?" He was, of course he was. How could he not be; he'd come over here less than six hours after Naba had implied the man before him was some sleazebag preying on him. "It's nothing," he said.

"It doesn't sound like nothing," Charles countered. "Come on, spill."

Connor looked up into his handsome face, framed by his dark, albeit slightly greying hair. "Okay, don't take this the wrong way," he began, sitting up a little. "But do you think maybe, well, you might be too old for me?"

Charles paused, his eyebrows shooting up. Then he let out an amused snort. "I _**know**_ I'm too old for you," he said. "Look Connor, I really like you. But if you don't want to do this anymore, I completely understand."

Connor shook his head. "No, I do," he said. "It was just...never mind."

The words had barely left Connor's mouth before Charles's large black cat suddenly leapt up onto the bed, and Connor was grateful for the distraction.

"Hi Smokey," he chirped, running his fingers along the cat's back. Smokey let out a low purr, and Connor continued his ministrations. As cute as Bailey and her pups were, he was glad to be around a cat again for a change. When he looked up, he noticed Charles staring at him with a small smile, and he blushed. "What?" he asked.

Charles let out a little laugh, his brown eyes crinkling in a way that reminded Connor distinctly of Kevin's perfect orbs. "It's nothing, Connor," he said. "You're just cute."

"Aww." Connor released Smokey and flopped back on the bed. "Ugh, I've still gotta drive back home."

Charles shrugged. "Stay the night," he said, and Connor looked over at him quizzically.

"What?"

"You heard me. Stay."

"Charles, I can't do that."

"Why?" Charles asked. "Do you have somewhere to be in the morning?"

"No." Not until the afternoon, at least. But still...

Charles leaned forward and placed a quick, gentle kiss on the back of Connor's neck, and Connor couldn't help but giggle. "Then stay the night."

It might be nice, Connor reasoned, staying here with Charles on this bed. But he still had reservations about the whole thing. "I don't have any pajamas here."

"You seem fine just like this," Charles replied with a mischievous little smirk, gesturing to Connor's naked form. At Connor's unamused expression, he said, "You can borrow some of mine."

"What about a toothbrush?"

"I have extra."

Connor just wasn't getting out of this, was he? Well, maybe that was for the best. After all, he was incredibly comfortable right now. Then he remembered something that actually was a dealbreaker.

"I can't stay," he said. "I didn't bring my Ambien with me; I'd never actually be able to get to sleep here."

"I have melatonin," Charles offered.

Connor reached forward to push away a lock of hair that had fallen in Charles's eyes. "If melatonin worked for me, then the doctor wouldn't have put me on Ambien, dear."

"True," Charles relented, and with great effort, Connor finally pulled himself up out of the bed. Charles said nothing while Connor pulled on his clothes and gave Smokey one last scratch on his back; in fact, it wasn't until Connor was donning his coat and scarf that he finally spoke up.

"So, you'll bring your medicine next time, right?"

Connor laughed. "Sure," he agreed. "Definitely."

* * *

Later That Evening

_This was perfect._

_Kevin had always dreamed of returning back to Orlando, but being here now, on a bench by the Tree of Life with his lips pressed against Connor's, was so much better than he could've ever imagined._

" _Connor," he gasped as Connor trailed his mouth down along Kevin's jaw. "We're in public."_

" _No one's here," Connor replied in between kisses on Kevin's neck._

_Kevin opened his eyes and looked around, surprised to see that the area was in fact empty. Huh. Well, that was odd and weirdly convenient. He threaded his fingers through the hair on the back of Connor's head and tilted his head a little more, allowing Connor full access to his neck. "Mmm," he moaned as Connor began sucking along his collarbone. "That feels really good. God, you're so amazing, Connor. I love you so—"_

Kevin jerked awake and blearily grabbed his phone, checking the time. 1:12 AM. Groaning, he sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp, then picked up the glass of water on the nightstand and slowly took a sip. Once his throat was no longer dry and gravelly, he settled back down and pushed the hair out of his eyes.

He wished he had Bailey here. How much longer was it before her puppies could go to their homes and she'd be able to leave his parents' house? He'd have to get her a special treat when she came home. Maybe a bone from—

Oh, who was he kidding? He was just trying to distract himself from that dream. That awful, horrendous, absolutely wonderful dream.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't enjoyed it so much.

_Get yourself together_ , he admonished. It was just a dream, and nothing ever made sense in a dream. Seriously, was he really about to say, right in the middle of Animal Kingdom, that he actually loved—

_No_ , he thought. _Don't say it, don't even think it_.

He rolled over on to his side and buried his head in the pillows, forcing himself to think about something, anything else until he fell back asleep.

_But still_ , one last thought slipped through his brain as he drifted off. _It all felt so good_.


	39. The Ethics of Faculty Liaisons

_**Junior Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 39: The Ethics of Faculty Liaisons**

Kevin loved the Christmas season. He always had, ever since he could remember. From age three, asking his mother to proofread his carefully constructed letter to Santa, to age nineteen, decorating a small tree made from sticks with homemade paper ornaments in the mission house, it was without a doubt his favorite time of the year. Even now, smack dab in the middle of finals week with that ever-present lingering hint of anxiety, he still loved Christmas time. Especially since his classes had gone so well.

"I aced my biochem final," he told Arnold and Naba proudly as soon as he entered his apartment and took off his coat. "I think I'm actually gonna earn a 4.0 this semester."

"Well, good for you," Naba grumbled as she flipped through her notes, but Kevin definitely caught the trace of a small smile on her lips. "Meanwhile I'm getting my ass handed to me by A&P." She looked up at him hopefully. "You took this in high school, didn't you?"

"Mmhm. I think our curriculum was easier, though, and I barely remember it. Sorry," he said with a little shrug, plopping down next to her on the couch.

Then he looked over at Arnold seated at the table, wondering why he was so quiet, only find him hard at work editing the final draft of his story. Well, that answered his question. "You'll be fine, Naba. At least you know what you wanna do after graduation."

"Maybe, but I have to pass this final first, and it's comprehensive," she remarked. "Did you know Brynn's already finished with her exams? Lucky girl. And she's been studying for the LSAT on top of everything. I think it's a little early, but she says it's normal if she wants to get into Georgetown or Stanford."

"It is." Kevin would be prepping for grad school at this point as well, if he knew what he should actually be studying for. To make himself feel like less of a slacker, he pulled out his Genetics materials and began studying. The apartment was quiet for about twenty minutes, before Arnold slammed his laptop lid shut triumphantly.

"Done!" He cried. "My story is finished and submitted. The work is complete, and Christmas break has officially begun! Time to celebrate."

"Maybe for you," Kevin quipped. "We're still working over here."

"Well, take a break. It's party time!"

"Maybe I don't want to celebrate your story," Kevin replied playfully. "Maybe I don't _**like**_ your story. Don't you dare think I've forgotten about Kyle, buddy."

"Aw, come on. Don't be bitter about Kyle. Besides, the class said he wasn't treated well during workshop, so I fixed him."

Kevin chuckled and shook his head. "I don't have time to do anything with you for too long," he said. "But we can go out for lunch if you want."

Arnold beamed. "Awesome." Then he looked over at Naba and said, "Come on, babe, let's go!"

Naba's eyes stayed glued to her notebook. "Let me finish this section first, okay?" she said. "I have to get this down; it was my worst test score."

Kevin peered over at her notes and frowned. "Really? The eyes? That was my favorite part!"

She wrinkled her nose. "Was it?"

"Heck yeah." He took the notebook from her hands and skimmed the page. "I actually remember all of this; I guess I really liked it, huh? It's amazing, isn't it, how much this one tiny little organ can do?" He looked back up with her brightly and asked, "Hey, you've been to the eye doctor since you came to America, right? Did you have them take a digital retinal image? You should have them do it next time; it's fascinating."

"Okay, sure," she replied slowly, pulling her notes back from his hands. "Now calm down, I have to study."

"Right, sorry. I just love this stuff. I could study it forever, really. It's—" He paused when he noticed the funny little smile that had formed on her lips, like she knew something he didn't. "What?" he asked defensively.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Just, half an hour ago, you said you didn't know what you want to do after graduation, but Kevin, I think you do know."

His brow furrowed in confusion. Did he? Since when—

"Oh," he said as it hit him. "Oh my God, you know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe I should be an optometrist." Mind racing with this possibility, he bounced a little in excitement, while Naba giggled at his sudden enthusiasm. "I never really thought about that before, you know?" he continued. "But maybe you're onto something—I mean, I thought I didn't want to become a doctor, but I just don't want to be a _ **medical**_ doctor. Maybe I want to go to optometry school and become an _**eye**_ doctor."

"Wait, so you're serious?" Arnold jumped in. "You have your job picked out?"

"Well, yeah. Possibly," Kevin said happily. "It's worth looking into."

"Awesome!" Arnold hopped up from his seat and did a little jig, and Kevin grinned. If there was one thing he truly loved about Arnold, it was how enthusiastic he could be about other people's good fortune. "Woohoo! Kevin has a plan! Oh wait, can you still go to Smith, though? Like you wanted to before?"

"Johns Hopkins," Kevin replied with an eye roll. "Come on, how hard is it to remember? Seriously, Smith? That's is a women's college, Arn."

"It is?" Arnold's brows shot up in surprise. "Oh crap, they must've made a grave mistake when they admitted you. Can you imagine if you'd actually gone there, instead of coming here? They would've felt so dumb!"

Kevin didn't even bother trying to correct him again. "I don't know where I'll be going, Arn. I't not even set in stone yet; I have to talk to Dr. Himawari." He stood up and gathered up his books. "I've gotta go; I think she's still in and I wanna catch her before she leaves."

"Your advisor?" Arnold asked.

"No, a different Dr. Himawari. Since there's so many here in Utah." Clearly his joke fell flat, since Arnold just stared at him blankly. "Yes, my advisor."

"Okay, then. But what about lunch?"

"I can't do lunch, Arnold. Can we do dinner instead? That way Naba can finish her studying, and maybe Connor and the others could come as well—"

"Connor won't be there," Naba cut in, once again perusing her notes.

"Is he working?" Arnold asked, and when Naba made a face, he said, "Oh, he's with that professor guy, isn't he?"

Kevin looked between the two of them quizzically. "Why would Connor be with a professor over dinner?" he said. When they both squirmed, he scowled.

"What the hell do you two know that you're not telling me?" he demanded.

* * *

_A Couple Hours Later_

Connor stared down at his philosophy notes with glazed eyes. Stifling a yawn, he stretched out on the sofa and looked over at Charles in the kitchen. "Why do they make us take gen eds?"

"Because it's important to be a well-rounded, civic-minded individual," Charles replied as if reciting some sort of creed. He cracked open a can of cat food and he dumped the mushy contents into Smokey's bowl.

"That's very true." With a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, "You're so wise in your old age."

Charles snorted. "I should kick you out for that."

"But you won't." Connor said with a little grin. Philosophy notes forgotten, he watched as Charles turned to the stove. They'd settled into a routine by this point; Connor would drive down to the city once or twice a week, they'd talk, make out, eat dinner, and then he would spend the night before heading back to Ogden in the morning. But they never went anywhere outside the apartment, and Charles never gave any real indication that this was anything more than casual sex. But that was fine. Honestly, if Charles ever actually asked to make this anything more, he wasn't sure he'd even accept.

He stood up and stretched, then stepped into the kitchen and hopped up onto the counter. "What're you making?" he asked, crossing one leg over the other.

Charles picked up the ladle and stirred the broth in the pot. "French onion soup."

"Why don't you just buy some from Panera?"

"Because some of us actually know how to cook," he replied with a smile, not missing a beat.

Connor scoffed. "Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively. "I don't _**have**_ to know how to cook. I can go to Panera. Or Kneaders. Several places, really. So there."

Charles just shook his head with a chuckle and turned the burner down to simmer. He picked up his coffee mug and took a long sip, then turned to the counter and stepped forward, resting a hand on Connor's knees. Connor uncrossed and parted his legs so Charles could stand flush against the counter, his face mere centimeters from Connor's own.

Who was he kidding? Of course he'd accept.

Charles set his mug back down and ran a finger along Connor's jaw line. "You all ready for that philosophy final?" he asked.

Connor shrugged. "Meh," he said. Then, before Charles could do anything sensible and dull like encouraging him to study more, he reached forward and captured the older man's lips in his own. Much to his pleasure, Charles was more than happy to reciprocate.

As the kiss deepened, Connor reached up and wrapped his arms behind Charles's neck, stroking the hair on his nape. Charles's tongue had just darted into his mouth when Connor's phone began buzzing next to him on the counter. Biting back a groan, Connor was perfectly content to let the stupid thing go to voicemail—that is, until he glanced down and saw the name displayed. _Kevin Price_ , the screen read. Well, damn. He couldn't just _**ignore**_ Kevin Price.

Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and whispered. "I've gotta take this, hon."

Charles gave him a one last peck on the lips and replied, "I'll be in here," before turning back to the soup.

Connor hopped off the counter and picked up his phone, accepting the call. "What's up?" he asked.

"Hey," Kevin replied. "Guess what? I just got done meeting with my advisor, I think I know what I want to do after graduation. I'm going to optometry school."

"You want to be an eye doctor?" Connor leaned back against the counter. "That's great, Kevin!"

"I know, right? Naba helped me figure it out. Oh, and by the way, why the hell are you screwing your damn teacher?"

Connor faltered. Well, that was rather unexpected. "What?"

"I'm sorry, did you not hear me?" Kevin snapped. "I said, why the _**hell**_ are you screwing your damn teacher, Connor?"

Connor sighed and hurried out of the kitchen. He'd figured Kevin would find out about this eventually, but that still didn't make it any easier.

Once the bedroom door was safely shut behind him, Connor spoke up. "He's not my—"

"Yeah, yeah, he's not your teacher anymore, he's just an adjunct, Naba already told me you'd say that. Cut the bullshit, Connor; just because it's technically allowed doesn't make it ethical."

"Well, that's the thing about ethics, Kevin. They're subjective. So maybe there might be other ideas on this besides your own."

"You're an RA; aren't you supposed to be a model student? _Hey freshmen, welcome to college! Let's all have sex with our professors!_ "

"Quit being so over-dramatic," Connor quipped.

"Over-dramatic? Really? People look up to you, Connor, and you need to set an example!"

"You mean like the one _**you**_ set last year?" Connor regretted it the instant the words were out of his mouth. Wincing, he quickly added, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Look, Kevin, it's not like I'm advertising my love life all over campus, or even my floor for that matter, so—"

"Whatever," Kevin snarled, clearly even more upset over Connor having brought _**that**_ up. "Just how many men are you gonna sleep with, Connor? I thought you of all people would want to reject the gay stereotype of slutting it up with anything that's got a dick and a pulse—"

"Oh, shut up." Bristling, Connor hit the end call button before Kevin had the chance to say another word. He sank down on the bed, glaring at the blank screen.

Just who the helldid Kevin think he was? Connor had every right to do exactly what he pleased, thank you very much. And sure, maybe Connor started it by mentioning his addiction, but—no, actually, Kevin called him up just to go on some holier-than-thou rant about Connor being a bad role model, so nope, it was definitely all on him.

The phone buzzed again, Kevin's name appearing once more on the screen. Connor immediately rejected the call.

 _Take that, darling_ , he thought. _Looks like I'm capable of ignoring you after all_.

And yes, it was perfectly normal to think of a platonic friend as darling.

He returned to the kitchen and tried not to sulk, but nevertheless Charles picked up on his mood swing. "Didn't go so well, I take it?"

"No," Connor grumbled, leaning against the counter.

"Aww." Charles took another sip of his coffee. "Chin up," he added, and Connor flashed him an annoyed look.

"I'm serious," Charles persisted. "Whatever spat you're having with your friend isn't worth getting bent out of shape. Relax. Dinner's almost ready; we're just waiting on the bread. Have some coffee."

He glared over at the Keurig. He didn't want coffee. Kevin drank coffee.

"I don't like coffee," he replied.

Charles's lips quirked up. "Because you're such a good Mormon?"

Connor rolled his eyes. "Because it's gross," he said shortly.

"Have you ever even tried it?"

"No." That had actually been one rule he never felt inclined to break, as he'd never had any real urge to try coffee in the first place. "But it just seems gross, okay?"

"Well, last week you thought me rimming you in the shower seemed gross," Charles answered with a smirk, and Connor felt his face redden. "But you took quite a liking to that, didn't you?"

"You just _**had**_ to bring that up, didn't you?" he said indignantly.

"Of course," Charles replied, stepping up and rubbing his hands up and down along Connor's arms. "Honestly, I liked how…spirited you were. It was hot."

The oven timer beeped before Connor could get too terribly flustered, and Charles turned back around and grabbed a pot holder. Connor watched him work with a little flutter in his stomach, one that swiftly disappeared when he remembered the phone call from earlier.

Well, what the hell did Kevin know? It's not like _**he**_ was beacon of perfection.

Charles had just opened one of the cabinet doors in search of bowls when Connor stepped up, pressing against him and wrapping his arms around his shoulder from behind. "I don't want dinner right now," he said, placing a small kiss on his collarbone.

"Oh you don't, hmm?"

"No." Connor almost added _I want dessert_ , but stopped himself because that was seriously cliché. Also horribly inaccurate, because Connor had yet to experience any sex that was as good as his favorite desserts, like cookie dough ice cream or that raspberry cheesecake Kevin made once—

Ugh. Enough about Kevin already.

He grabbed hold of Charles's hand. "C'mon, dear," he said, leading him back toward the bedroom.

* * *

_The Next Day_

"I think I want to be an optometrist," Kevin told Latoya.

"Is that so?"

"Mmhm. I've been doing some research, and Dr. Himawari thinks it's a good fit. Wouldn't that be awesome? I love studying the human eye, and I mean, I'd basically be helping people _**see**_. How much more rewarding can it get than that?"

Latoya smiled. "It does sound like a good fit, Kevin," she replied. "Now see, that's the excitement I was looking for when I asked why you wanted to be a doctor. Looks like you've found your calling."

Kevin grinned proudly. "Right," he said. "Anyway, the pre-med track I'm on is basically a pre-health one in general, so I don't need to worry about taking any classes other than the ones I have planned. I've just gotta take the OAT and figure out where I want to apply."

"Any ideas?"

"Definitely UC Berkeley," Kevin said. "California's not my favorite place out there, but it's an amazing school with a great program. Probably Ohio State, Indiana, a few others, too. I'm not putting all my eggs in one basket this time."

"Good plan. Have you told your parents?"

"I have. They're happy for me. They'd be happier if I was transferring to BYU and going to church every week, but still, they're happy for me." Kevin rocked his leg a little and fidgeted. "They worry about me a lot, and I'm still not used to that."

"You never had to deal with it before your mission."

"Right." Kevin nodded, but then faltered. "Well, no. I guess that's not completely true. They worried about me when I was little, too," he admitted. "See, the thing is, I didn't really become popular until high school. I usually kept to myself as a kid. I was a bit…well, my mom said precocious, others might've used the word annoying. Anyhow, I didn't always fit in well."

"Plus, I never really went to any of the church lock-ins or the other kids' sleepovers," he added. Then he squirmed nervously his seat, blushing at the thought of confessing something nobody but his immediate family knew. "I, um…well, I had a bedwetting problem. Most kids do, but mine lasted until, gosh, seventh grade, maybe? So I never wanted to sleep anywhere besides my own house, and people figured it was because I was stuck up and they quit inviting me after a while.

"Which was fine," he clarified. "It all worked out. While the other kids were off playing together at recess, I'd usually just read my Book of Mormon. That meant I ended up knowing scripture really, really well. Eventually the Bishops took notice of me, and parents started talking me up. Then all the girls started noticing I was both attractive and smart, and sometime mid-freshman year I became known as the perfect Mormon—and considering the North Ogden suburb is about, maybe, eighty percent Mormon, that meant I was the most popular guy in school. And I loved it. I mean, really, I thrived on it."

He sighed and slumped back in his seat. "Then I became a disgraceful heathen after my mission, and now I'm a suicidal junkie who just needs Jesus back in his life," he said. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad I left the church. That was my choice. I just wish they didn't all pity me so much."

"You want them to respect you," Latoya clarified. "You don't miss the church, but you do miss the value you had in that community."

"Exactly. I just wish they would actually listen to me, not just say something like _you have your agency_ or _you have the right to your own opinion_. I want them to really, truly value me as an individual like they used to." He picked up one of the throw pillows and hugged it to his chest. "But any hope I had of that happening disappeared after I landed myself in the hospital."

He snorted. "Listen to me; I went from talking about my future to whining about last year," he said. "Can I tell you something?"

"You can tell me anything, Kevin."

"Are you sure? It's pretty bad." When her expression didn't change, he took a deep breath. "I've been thinking about killing myself again. Don't worry," he amended quickly. "I definitely won't go through with it. I don't _**actually**_ want to die. I've just been, um, thinking about it. Like, what would happen if I did go through with it. It's a little sick, I know."

"It's definitely not sick," Latoya assured him. "Quite common, actually."

"Is it? Good to know I'm not completely crazy," he said with a humorless laugh. "You know, everyone knew about it after it happened. News spreads fast in the Mormon community. They all kept sending cards and letters to the hospital. I guess they thought they were helping, but it just made me feel ten times worse. All I wanted was to try again, maybe cut a little deeper the second time around."

He met her calm, gentle eyes and remembered exactly why he needed her so much. The thought of facing Connor's, Arnold's, or—God forbid—his mother's expressions if he ever told any of them about this was horrible, but Latoya wore no judgement on her face.

"Life can be hard, Kevin," she said. "And sometimes we just want to escape. But we have to focus on the things keeping us around. Embrace those. So what are those things, for you?"

"My friends. My family," he replied. "And honestly, this is gonna sound kind of awful, but I think one of the biggest things would be my dog. You hear about those dogs who sit around forever, waiting for their dead owners to come home, and oh my God, the thought of that happening to Bailey because I _**chose**_ to die is tragic. I mean, she was already abandoned by one owner."

"I love hearing you talk about your dog," Latoya said with a smile. "Your eyes just light right up."

"Aww, thanks. I thought about becoming a vet, but that lasted about ten whole minutes before I remembered that I'd have to work with cats too," he joked. "On a more serious note, I don't think I could handle having to put any sick pets down."

The rest of the session breezed by with Kevin chatting about the puppies and his finals, before Latoya noted that their time was almost up.

"I don't want to rush you out of here," she said. "I get the feeling something's still on your mind. Is there anything else you'd like to share?"

Kevin thought all the dreams involving Connor he'd been having. They were always sweet and perfectly innocent, never going beyond a PG rating. His most recent one involved Connor running around New York City like a kid in a candy store before he and Kevin found an isolated, quiet little spot to kiss and cuddle. Which was honestly stupid, because this "quiet spot" was the base of the Statue of Liberty, and surely there was always a crowd at the damn Statue of Liberty.

He thought about the fight they'd had yesterday. He never should've even called Connor in the first place, and he felt so bad about condemning him like that. Did it really matter how many people he'd slept with? It's not like he was some staunch Mormon missionary preaching about the law of chastity anymore. But for some reason, the thought of Connor being with this attractive, stable, law-abiding man and liking it enough to see him on a regular basis just made Kevin's blood boil.

He smiled tightly at Latoya. "Nope," he said. "Nothing."


	40. The Freaky Horse Fountain

_**Junior Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 40: The Freaky Horse Fountain**

Winter flew by just as quickly as fall had, and before anyone knew it, spring break about a week away. Kevin was more than grateful to have some time off; between class, work, therapy, studying for the OAT, slowly grudgingly accepting that Connor was going to sleep with whomever he damn well pleased, and managing the household's newest four-legged addition, he was thoroughly worn out.

"Sit," he commanded, giving Poptart a little pat on the rear. The pup just stared up at him. "Come on, Poptart, sit...You can do it, little guy. Sit, Poptart...come on, sit, boy...oh for God's sake, just sit already."

Poptart stayed put, looking up at Kevin with a happy little grin.

"At it again, huh?" Arnold asked as he wandered into the kitchen in search of a snack. Kevin had been trying to teach him that command for a month now, to no avail.

"Yeah," Kevin replied with a huff. "He still won't do it."

"Give it a rest," Arnold suggested. "He's just a puppy."

"He's still old enough to sit," Kevin countered. "Ariel, Max, and Sam all know how to do it. We had to pay an extra deposit on him, and he won't even sit." With a resigned sigh, he stared glumly at Arnold. "Why did you have to pick out the dumb one?"

"Hey," Arnold protested. "I don't think Bailey would appreciate you calling her kid dumb."

"She already knows he's dumb," Kevin replied.

"Well then she's a rude-ass mama, you know that? It figures; she didn't even care when everyone took her puppies away."

"She knew they were going to good homes," Kevin countered. "And besides, she was getting tired of them. Bailey!" He called, and the dog quickly hurried out from his room, where she'd been lounging on the bed.

"Sit," he commanded her. When she plunked down on her haunches, he added, "Good girl!" Then he fished out a couple of Raw Boost munchies and held them out for her to gobble down. "No, Poptart," he snapped as the puppy scurried forward as well. "You don't get any treats; you didn't learn anything."

The pup whined, hopping up and down. _Please_! he seemed to say.

"No," Kevin persisted, though his resolve was already starting to waver. "You don't get treats just for being a cutie. You have to earn them."

 _Please_! Kevin could totally hear him in his head. _I earn. I earn with cute_!

With one more look into Poptart's big eyes, Kevin felt his willpower completely dissolve. "Well, okay," he relented as he gave him a munchie. "But only this once. You better learn to sit real soon."

Poptart chowed down on his snack and then bounced away with a little hop in his step.

"I don't think he's ever gonna sit, buddy," Arnold said.

"Probably not," Kevin agreed. "And hey, why exactly am I the one teaching him this? He's supposed to be _**your**_ dog."

"Yeah, but I don't care if he sits," Arnold replied. "He doesn't need to learn any tricks for me. If you want to teach him, that's on you."

Kevin just rolled his eyes and flopped down on the couch. Arnold joined him, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, both browsing their phones, before Arnold spoke up.

"Hey, Kev…" he began. "Um, how're you doing?"

Kevin felt himself tense. "What d'you mean?"

"Just, you know. How are, um, things? Like, school and counseling and stuff?"

"They're fine. Why?"

Arnold shrugged. "I just like to make sure you're doing okay," he said.

Kevin couldn't help experiencing a twinge of guilt. It was the same one he felt any time he woke up to find Arnold snuggled up to him on the other side of the bed, claiming he'd had nightmares due to some late night TV binge. Kevin wasn't sure just how he knew those nightmares were actually about him trying to kill himself again; it wasn't like Arnold had ever explicitly given that away. He just knew.

"Don't worry about it, pal," he replied.

* * *

"This is so hard," Naba groaned as she tossed her notes on the coffee table in frustration. "Why exactly did I decide I want to become a nurse?"

"Because you grew up helping Gotswana at his clinic, and you like taking care of people," Connor replied, running his fingers through her hair and toying with the thick, frizzy strands. "Also because you're a masochist."

"Well, it sucks." She slumped back against his shoulder, defeated.

"Aw, don't be like that. Cheer up; you made it into the nursing program and now you're gonna kick its ass. Even if it's a challenge."

Naba sighed and tried to simply focus on the pleasant feel of his hand in her hair, blocking all the stress out. "I can't wait until break," she said. "Arnold and I are going to Park City."

"That's nice. Romantic."

"Not really; his parents will be there."

"Well, that'll be even _**more**_ romantic." She looked up at his teasing smirk and shook her head.

"You're so weird," she said, to which he just laughed. "Jami said Poptarts invited her on his family's trip to Missouri," she continued. "Do they really do that every year?"

"Yep. Every spring. They fly into Kansas City, stop by the Jackson County visitors center, drive up to Adam-ondi-Ahman. It's a big deal to them."

"And they do not invite you?"

"They do. I've just never taken them up on it. I think I'm actually gonna go this year, though."

"You should." She smiled wistfully. " Have you been there before? I bet Jackson County is very beautiful."

"My family went once when I was younger," Connor replied. "And I wouldn't call it the best place on Earth, but it's okay, I suppose."

She glanced back up toward his face, examining his tight features and pensive eyes, and frowned. Before she could make a comment, though, he absentmindedly tugged on a handful of her hair.

"Ow!" she complained.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," Connor jerked his hand away, a panicked look on his face. "Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to—"

"I'm fine; don't worry. Do you not like Missouri?"

He faltered. "I don't really have an opinion on Missouri."

"Then why do you seem so stressed about going there?"

"I'm not…" When she cocked an eyebrow at his protest, he relented. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you why I'm going this year. So, you know Charles is from Omaha, right? Well—

"Charles? You mean Mr. Blakely?" Her thoughts promptly soured at the name. "No, I didn't know he's from Omaha, because I do not sleep with him like you."

Connor sneered. "Well, he is. He taught there for a while before moving to Salt Lake. Anyhow, when I mentioned the trip to him, he told me about this summer theatre program in the area called Western Playhouse. It's sponsored by one of the Missouri colleges, and they're holding auditions in KC while I'm there."

Now she was intrigued. "So you are planning to audition?"

"I think so," Connor replied with a nervous smile. "He says I have a pretty good shot. And it would actually be kind of a big deal. I mean, they're part of the EMC so if I'm cast, I'll start earning credit toward becoming an Equity member."

"Connor, that would be incredible! I think you should go for it." She happily bounced on the couch for a few seconds before struck with one not-so-great realization. "So that means you'd be in Kansas City all summer?"

"I think it's somewhere north of Kansas City, but essentially, yes." His eyes gleamed as he added, "They're performing _Les Mis_ and _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , you know. It's perfect; I've wanted to be in a production of _Les Mis_ since I was about ten years old."

"You'll be wonderful. I really hope you get it. Even if I will miss you all summer." What was the longest she'd gone without seeing him since he'd first stepped foot in Uganda? A few weeks, tops?

"Aww." He smiled and reached over, giving her shoulder a reassuring rub. "It'll only be a couple months."

She heaved an over-dramatic sigh. "Yes, and then you'll graduate a year later and move to New York, and we'll never see each other again."

Connor snorted at her deliberate exaggeration. "There's no guarantee I'll end up in New York," he said. "And we'll definitely see each other again." He brightened. "Hey, maybe you and Arnold could come with!"

"I seriously doubt I'll ever get Arnold to move anywhere without Kevin," she countered.

"He can come, too. We can all cram ourselves into a studio apartment; it's the only way we'll be able to afford it."

"The only way we'd ever get Kevin into New York is if we kidnapped him."

"Hmm." Connor frowned in thought. "I guess we can kidnap him if we have to. Or maybe he'll come willingly if we tell him Disney World moved. Think he'd buy it?"

Naba giggled and shook her head. Then without warning, she leaned forward and threw her arms around Connor. "You're going to be amazing at your audition," she said. "Missouri is going to love you."

"Well thank you," Connor replied as he returned the embrace. "Let's hope so."

* * *

_One Week Later_

Kevin tucked his legs under him on the couch in Naba, Brynn, and Jami's apartment, watching as Sam and Ariel happily scurried around with Poptart in play. "What time is your flight tomorrow?" He asked Chris and Jami.

"Seven in the morning," Chris answered.

"Yuck." Kevin wrinkled his nose. "So are you two gonna be gone all break?"

"Most of it," Jami replied as she dug her suitcase out of the hall closet. "We get back on Friday, so we'll have a couple days left then." With the bag now in hand, she headed off to her room, leaving the door open.

"I don't know why my folks are making it so long this year," Chris added with a shrug. "It's not like there's anything there we haven't done before. But it'll be good for Connor if he gets a callback, I guess."

"Is he ready for his audition?" Arnold asked.

"I think so," said Chris. "He's completely stressing over it, but that's normal for him."

Arnold nodded. "That's what Naba said. She texted me just now; she's trying to get him to pack and he just wants to go over his songs again."

"He'll do great," Kevin said dismissively. "By the way, Poptarts, do you think while you're there you could…" He drifted off as Arnold's pup bounded up to him, wagging his tail expectantly. "Not _**you**_ , Poptart," he quipped. "You know what? This is getting too confusing. From now on, this dog will be Poptart, and Chris will be, um...Toaster Strudel."

"What?" Chris's head shot up in indignant alarm. "I don't want to be Toaster Strudel!"

"Too bad. It's your fault we're having this problem in the first place, so you'll take what you get."

"But I don't even _**like**_ toaster strudels!"

"Why not?" Arnold asked. "They're tasty."

"They're crap. Jami!" Chris shouted. "They keep calling me Toaster Strudel. Tell them to quit!"

"I'm busy, Chris," she called back. "Figure it out yourself."

"See?" Kevin said smugly. "Your own girlfriend doesn't even care. Looks like it's official."

Chris slumped down on the couch with a glare. "Toaster Strudel," he grumbled. "Freaking _**Toaster Strudel**_. You're the worst, Kevin Price."

"Aw thanks."

"You know what's weird?" Arnold cut in, obviously trying to quell any impeding fights. "I've never been to Kansas City before."

"Never?" Chris said in surprise, clearly willing to let the nickname issue go for now.

"Nope! My mom's afraid of flying and my dad gets cranky on long drives. We didn't go many places. Have you ever been there, Kev?"

"Yeah, a few times. Not recently; I think I was about thirteen the last time we went." He twisted in his seat to face Chris. "Hey, did you ever see that one fountain?"

Chris's raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna have to be more specific," he replied.

"The freaky one. It's—gosh, where was it? It was around a bunch of stores, and it had these horses with water coming out of their, like, eyes and ears and noses or something."

Chris shook his head, bemused. "No, I can't say I ever saw that."

"Really? Well, good; I hate it."

"Are you sure you saw that in KC?" Chris asked slowly, voice dripping with skepticism and condescension. "Not more recently, like say...last year?"

Kevin frowned. "Where would I have seen it last year? No, it was definitely—" he halted and then scowled in realization. "Adderall doesn't cause hallucinations, asshole!"

"Are you sure?" Chris replied with a smirk.

"I'm one hundred percent sure, Toaster," Kevin answered, which immediately wiped the devilish little grin off Chris's face. "Anyhow, what I was gonna ask you was, do you think you could get one of the Starbucks You Are Here mugs while you're there? I'm starting a collection."

"Not if you're gonna call me Toaster Strudel."

Kevin was undeterred. "Hey Jami," he called. "Can you pick up one of the Kansas City You Are Here mugs?"

"Sure," she yelled back.

"Thanks!" He turned back to Chris smugly, who grudgingly sighed.

"Well played, dickhead."

* * *

_The Next Week_

When Connor had received word that he'd gotten a callback twenty minutes prior, he'd immediately excused himself from the Thomases and Jami to mull it over and clear his head. Now he strolled along the sidewalk past the storefronts at Country Club Plaza, trying and failing to calm his nerves. As he walked by Kaldi's Coffee, he finally gave in and pulled out his phone.

Kevin answered on the third ring. "how'd it go?" He asked without a greeting.

"They want me to come in again tomorrow," he replied.

"That's awesome! Wait, that's a good thing, right?"

"Yes, Kevin, it's a good thing."

"Then why don't you sound more excited?"

"I'm am excited," Connor countered. "Really. It's just…" He came to a halt near a store directory, leaning against a tree and gazing pensively at the ornate architecture of a steakhouse across the street. "I can't help but feel like I'm gonna screw it all up. How much of a chance do I really have, honestly?"

"Why would you screw it up? You get parts in the plays here all the time."

"This is a little more competitive than that."

"But not _**that**_ much more competitive," Kevin argued. "It's not like it's famous or anything."

"Yes, but still. Besides, the school productions are cast by people I've been working with since freshman year. They have no clue who I am here."

"Well, you're just gonna have to show them how great you are."

Connor snorted. "Easier said than done," he said. "I'm just really nervous, is all."

"You're gonna be amazing. And if they don't cast you, it's just because they're idiots living in a state known only for a crooked cop and a politician who thinks women can turn off their reproductive system."

"And what if they do cast me?"

"Then they're fine people living in a fine, fine state."

Connor laughed, and he could practically see Kevin's grin on the other end of the line.

"So how's the trip?" Kevin asked. "Besides all the audition stuff, I mean."

"It's okay." Connor stared absentmindedly at the fountain in front of him—which featured Neptune brandishing his trident while perched on his chariot—and he vaguely wondered who thought it was a good idea to include streams of water shooting out the horses' mouths and nostrils. "There's a really weird fountain here," he remarked. "I think it's—"

"Is it freaky horse fountain?" Kevin chimed in excitedly. "With water coming out the eyes?"

"It's not coming out their eyes, but I'm pretty sure that's the one, yeah."

"Oh my God; I knew it was there somewhere. Does it scare you?"

"Why would it scare me?" Connor asked quizzically.

"Because it's got horses and those scare you. And it's like, demon horses with fluids spewing out their orifices."

"Seriously, Kevin?" Connor scoffed. "They're obviously not real; I assure you I'm fine." Even so, he couldn't help the small shiver that coursed through him as he stared at their wide, vacant eyes.

"If you say so," Kevin replied cooly. "Make sure Toaster Strudel sees it; he didn't believe me when I was telling him about it."

"Are we really gonna call him Toaster Strudel now?" Connor chuckled. "You know he hates it."

"Good."

Connor shook his head. "You're cruel."

"So's he."

"I swear, you two are like children sometimes. Almost as bad as you and Brynn."

"Ugh, don't remind me about Brynn," Kevin groaned. "I have to get a better score on the OAT than she gets on the LSAT, and it's stressing me out."

"How exactly are you gonna figure out who got the better score?" Connor asked with a frown. "They have different scoring scales."

"Percentiles."

Connor rolled his eyes. "That's stupid. They're completely different tests taken by completely different types of people. You're both gonna be bitter and full of ulcers at age thirty-two."

"Yeah, but it'll be worth it if I get a better score," Kevin replied simply. "But hey, I've gotta get ready for work. Break a leg tomorrow. Oh, and remind Jami to pick up a mug, okay?"

"She's already got it."

"Awesome. Talk to ya later."

"Bye." Connor hung up, glanced once more at the fountain with a little creeped-out shudder, and headed back toward the Thomases.

* * *

_Three Days Later_

Connor leaned back against Charles's chest and sighed happily as the older man kissed and licked him up and down along his collarbone. "You're really good at this," he said breathlessly.

"Glad you like it," Charles replied in between kisses. "You sure you don't want to tell me about your audition?"

Annoyed, Connor pulled away. "As I've already said, there's nothing to tell," he snapped, standing up and smoothing out his shirt. "I went in there, I did what they asked me to do, gave an extremely average performance and that's it." He reached down and scooped up Smokey in his arms. "Why do you keep asking me to tell you about it?"

"Because Connor, I suspect you weren't as mediocre as you think. In fact, I'm sure you were wonderful. It's like when you swore you did poorly on my unit four test and you earned a B; you never give yourself the credit you deserve."

Connor just silently stood in place, holding Smokey and scratching between the cat's shoulder blades. Nevertheless, when Charles approached him from behind and began massaging his scalp, he couldn't help but lean into the touch.

"You don't know their decision yet," Charles assured him. "Don't go jumping to conclusions."

"They were all hung up on the fact that I'm from Utah," Connor murmured. "They kept saying things like, _Oh, you came all the way from Utah? What was it like growing up there?_ And then I told them I actually grew up in Idaho, and it was all, _Oh wow,_ _ **Idaho**_. Like they forgot it was a state."

"That's good, actually. You were immediately memorable to them."

"Maybe." Connor lowered Smokey back down and turned around to face Charles. "Can we not talk about this anymore? I'm sick of dwelling on it."

"Fine by me," Charles said. He kissed him quickly on the lips and steering him toward the bed. "I can think of a much better thing to do, anyway."

Connor giggled and flopped backward, lying on his back while Charles straddled him. After a few minutes of making out, however, Connor pulled back.

"I hate to kill the mood here," he began. "But before I forget, I can't make it down next weekend. I'm on duty."

"No worries," Charles replied smoothly. "It's just as well; my husband's coming back into town."

Connor snorted. "Right," he said. Obviously, he was joking. He had to be joking, right? When Charles's expression didn't change, Connor faltered, a tight smile stuck on his face. "Wait, what?"

"My husband'll be back in town. His plane gets in Saturday morning."

Oh shit, he wasn't joking. "You're married?"

"Three years now," Charles elaborated. "He's a history professor at the University of Utah, and he's been on a Fulbright program in Denmark."

"He's a Fulbright Scholar, huh? That's quite the achievement." Connor's voice and thoughts were both detached, distant. A split second later, though the numbness instantly vanished and he jerked up and away from Charles. "You're _**married**_!?"

"Connor—"

"You _**never**_ told me you were married!"

"I never told you I was single, either," Charles pointed out.

"Why the hell would I have thought otherwise?" Connor stood up and glared down at Charles. "You're not wearing a ring. There's no pictures of the two of you anywhere."

"We don't have rings, and there's no photos of _**anyone**_ around here. That's not really our style."

"Then where's all his stuff?" Connor challenged, gesturing vaguely around the apartment.

"Well, a lot of it's with him, but some of it's still around. His clothes are in the closet."

Connor put his hands on his hips, exasperated. "I thought they were all your clothes. I can't believe—ugh, this whole time, I've been sleeping on your _**husband's**_ side of the bed. We were making out there just now!"

"Connor, look—"

"Don't _Connor_ _look_ me," he spat. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you honestly think I would've agreed to this if I'd known—

"It's not like that. Tom and I have an open marriage; we have an arrangement."

"Oh, do you?" he snarled. "Well, here's the thing, _**hon**_. That's great for the two of you, but I was never in on this arrangement. I don't sleep with married men, Charles."

Charles stood up and reached toward him, but Connor abruptly spun around and grabbed his messenger bag.

"Connor, please, don't do this," Charles called as he headed toward the door. "I really like you, okay? I've always liked you."

Connor paused at that. With one hand on the door handle, he turned back to Charles questioningly. "Even when I was your student?"

Charles smiled. "Even when you were my student," he confirmed.

"That's disgusting." Connor swung open the door and strode out without a single glance back.

* * *

_Two Days Later_

"You've been studying for hours; are you ever going to take a break?." Naba asked Brynn. She poured her a coffee refill then returned the decanter to it's rightful spot settled down next to her at the kitchen table.

"Thanks," Brynn picked up the mug and swiftly took one large gulp. "And nope, I've gotta get a better score on the LSAT than Kevin gets on the OAT."

"How are you going to know who does better? They are different tests."

"Percentiles."

"You two are so competitive," Naba muttered. "I don't think it matters who does better; I'm sure you will still be competitive for your top schools. That's Georgetown and Stanford, right?"

"That's right. I'm leaning toward Georgetown, because if I go to Stanford and Kevin gets into UC Berkeley, then we'll only be about fifty miles apart and I'd prefer two thousand-plus."

"That's crazy," Naba said, but there was a knock on the door before she elaborate. She stepped over to open it and let Connor in.

"Hey you two," he said with a smile.

"Hi," Brynn replied. "I heard you dumped your sugar daddy."

Connor blinked. "Um, well—"

"It's probably for the best," she added. "In a few years he'd have to start taking Viagra, and one day he'd fall and not be able to get up. Then you'd have to bring him yogurt and cream of wheat in the hospital and sign him up for Life Alert."

"If you say so," Connor deadpanned.

"I'm sorry it turned out the way it did, Connor," Naba said sympathetically, even though she secretly wasn't sorry at all and so desperately wanted to say I told you so. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, definitely. I mean, I'll miss his cat, but I'll get over it. I'm fantastic, actually." Naba was about to question the almost manic grin he was barely concealing before he revealed, "I heard from Western today. I'm gonna be Marius."

"Really?" Naba shrieked and hugged him tightly. "Oh my God, Connor!"

"I know!" he cried, smiling from ear to ear now. "I'm playing Peter Quince in _Midsummer_ too, and—oh my God, I still can't believe I was cast."

"I am so proud of you," she gushed, pulling away and beaming up at him. "You're going to be in Missouri doing what you love all summer!"

"Aww, congrats," Brynn chimed in. She stood up and joined them, then gave Connor a small hug of her own. "You're gonna be so bored. I'm thrilled for you."

"Thanks, Brynn," Connor laughed, and as Naba looked into his bright, happy eyes, she couldn't help but think that everything, in this moment, was simply perfect.


	41. Big Fun in Hays

_**Summer Between Junior and Senior Year** _

**Chapter 41: Big Fun in Hays**

"Hey, guess what?" Kevin plopped down next to Arnold with a grin. "Guess what, pal?" When Arnold didn't take his eyes off the TV, Kevin bounced impatiently. "Stop playing your game and pay attention to me!"

"I've gotta complete this mission," Arnold said, squinting at the screen in concentration.

"Complete it later. Guess what?"

"I can't just complete it later; I've—" Just then he stepped on a landmine, and his character was blown to smithereens. Arnold sighed; he'd been _**so close**_. Well, damn. He lowered the controller and looked over at Kevin. "What, Kev?"

Kevin's grin was still plastered on his face. "We should have pizza tonight."

Arnold raised an eyebrow. That was it? Kevin distracted him from the mission he'd been trying to complete for hours, just for pizza? "We had pizza a couple days ago, buddy."

"You can never have too much pizza, though."

"True, but I thought you said last week that we needed to eat healthier. Like, salads and stuff."

"Yeah, but we can put vegetables on the pizza," Kevin persisted. "Have them add mushrooms, and diced tomatoes, and um—do green peppers have a lot of nutritional value? Let's just assume they do. Oh! You know what else we should do?" he hopped a little in his seat, excited. "Let's order a ton of pizza, blow way too much money, and then invite everyone over! Have, like, a giant pizza night."

"How come?" Arnold asked. "I figured you'd want to just have a quiet night."

"No way! Come on, it'll be great. Finals are over, and Connor's leaving for that theatre program tomorrow. We have to do something."

Arnold looked him over, puzzled. "Why're you so happy?" he asked. "I mean, don't get me wrong; it's nice," he amended quickly. "But why're you so...happy?"

Still smiling, Kevin shrugged. "A few reasons, I guess," he said. "My birthday's coming up soon. The semester's over, and I don't have to spend summer in rehab."

"Oh." Arnold's eyes widened as he remembered. "Oh, right! It's your first full summer since, um—" He lowered his eyes to Kevin's left wrist. While the scar had lost most of it's redness, it was still quite visible. Kevin obviously caught him staring, because he pulled his arm back a little and wrapped his other hand around his wrist.

Arnold blushed. "Sorry, buddy."

"It's fine," Kevin murmured. Then he offered a small, proud smile." "I've officially been off Adderall for a year now, you know."

"A whole year? That's awesome! I bet you don't even want it anymore, huh?"

"No, I still do," Kevin corrected him. "Sometimes. It's just, well, easier to manage, I suppose."

"Well, that's still great, y'know? Wow, a whole year! I'm really proud of you, buddy." Arnold couldn't help but think back to how Kevin looked around this time last year—lying pitifully in a hospital bed, hooked up a to a couple machines Arnold couldn't identify with his wrist covered in stitches—and he suppressed a small shudder. He looked up at his bright, cheery friend now and beamed. "And yeah, we can totally have pizza. All the pizza you want!"

Kevin laughed. "Awesome, thanks." He glanced over at the clock on the wall and started. "Shit, I've gotta get going. Poptart!" he called, standing up. "Poptart?" he added when the dog didn't come bounding toward him as usual.

Kevin went off in search of Poptart, and Arnold decided to just start the game completely over. As he set it up, he could hear Kevin's calls throughout the apartment.

"Poptart! Come here, boy...Bailey, have you seen Poptart? Find him, Bailey; find your puppy!" Then after a few moments, Arnold heard, "He's under there? There you are, Poptart! Come on, get out from under the bed."

Arnold just chuckled and shook his head. Kevin returned to the living room about a minute later with his keys and Poptart's leash in hand, the pup held securely in his arms.

"See ya later," Kevin said as he headed toward the door.

"Where're you going?"

Kevin paused. "To the vet," he explained. "Poptart here's gonna have a little...operation."

"Hey!" Arnold protested. "You're gonna cut his balls off, aren't you?"

"Well, _**I**_ won't be the one doing it," Kevin said. "But the vet will, yeah."

"Not cool, man! That's my dog; you can't take him to have his balls cut off without my permission. And I say no. He needs those!"

"He only needs them if he's gonna reproduce," Kevin pointed out. He turned to Poptart and added, "And you don't want any babies, do you, Mr. Poptart? No."

" _You don't want any babies, do you? No_ ," Arnold mimicked. "You don't know what he wants! See, look, he's not saying no. He's saying," He paused, clearing his throat and continuing in a high-pitched squeak. " _Maybe. Maybe a baby. Maybe two! Two baby_."

"And who's paying for these maybe babies? You?" Kevin shot back. "I'm not dealing with any more surprise puppies, Arn. There are too many dogs out there who need homes as it is. Bailey got fixed, and now it's his turn."

Arnold shook his head and turned back to the TV. "Jerk," he muttered. "Running around fixing all the dogs. How'd you like it if the vet cut off _**your**_ balls?"

"He doesn't need to. I'm not knocking people up at the dog park."

"But how do we know you won't?" Arnold challenged.

"I've gotta go or I'll be late," Kevin said as Poptart began wiggling in his grip. He pulled open the door. "See you this evening.'

"You're a cruel, cruel man, Kevin Price."

"Okay. Bye, now."

* * *

_That Evening_

When Kevin stepped back into the apartment with four boxes of pizza in hand—because he did _**not**_ waste money on delivery, not ever—the others were already all gathered in the kitchen. Naba and Arnold were pulling out plates, while Connor and Brynn just stood there, staring dumbfounded at their unopened bottle of wine on the counter. Kevin resisted the urge to roll his eyes at whatever their deal was and set the boxes down on the table.

"Food's here," he announced happily. "Pepperoni, mushroom, green pepper, onion, diced tomatoes, and extra cheese. Dig in, everyone."

"Great," Connor said. "Hey, you don't happen to have a corkscrew around here, do you?"

"I have absolutely no use for corkscrew, Connor. So, no."

Connor just sighed and turned back to Brynn.

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "I really thought this one had a twist cap. And clearly it never occurred to _**you**_ we might need one, either."

"Give it a rest, you two," Naba said as she opened up first box in the stack. "Who drinks wine with pizza, anyway? There's soda in the fridge."

Brynn stared at the bottle for a couple more seconds before shrugging. "She's right," she told Connor. "We should've brought beer."

"I like wine more, though," Connor replied. "I really feel like this is a challenge we shouldn't give up on just yet."

Brynn slid the bottle over toward him and stepped over to the table. "Have at it, buddy. I'm gonna get some food."

"Kevin," Naba began, setting a couple slices on her plate. "Did we really need four large pizzas for five people?"

Kevin grabbed a Sprite from the fridge and took a seat, his own plate piled high with several slices. "Um, yes," he said adamantly.

"And doesn't the extra cheese and pepperoni basically kill the whole healthy vibe you were going for with the vegetables?" Brynn added.

"No," Kevin replied firmly. "No it doesn't, okay? Now come on, hurry up and eat."

Gradually, everyone except Connor settled down at the table. "Mmmm," Arnold said before taking a huge bite. "Pizza Hut, my favorite."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Naba said.

"Sorry," Arnold replied as he took another bite.

"You just did it again," she reprimanded with an annoyed sigh.

"Sorry, sorry! I mean, wait, um—" he continued to flub with his mouth still full, but before Naba could say anything else, there was a loud pop at the counter. Everyone looked over to see Connor triumphantly holding the open bottle.

"I did it!" he said proudly. "I opened it with my car key. Oh my God, I'm so smart."

"I love you," Brynn said. "Let's get married and conceive a child."

"Yes Connor, you really accomplished the unthinkable," Kevin said dryly. "Now sit your ass down."

"Fine, crankypants." Connor pulled a couple glasses from the cabinet, then brought those and the bottle over to the table. "You know, that would be a really awesome kid, wouldn't it?" He went on as he handed a glass to Brynn before filling up a plate. "She could become, like, a fierce lesbian politician. And then when they made a movie about her life, she'd be able to star in it herself."

"We should send her to Horace Mann School," Brynn said. "Or Sidwell Friends."

"How're we gonna be able to afford those?" Connor countered.

"She could get a scholarship. Besides, I'm gonna become a lawyer, remember? And you'll probably land a big play sometime."

"You can't send your kid to school in D.C.," Kevin cut in. "There's crime there."

Connor glanced over at him quizzically. "There's crime everywhere," he replied before taking a drink of his wine.

"And Sidwell Friends is basically the best K-12 school in the country, dumbass," Brynn added. "Chelsea Clinton went there."

"Oh, did she?" Kevin shot back. "Well Bill Clinton hasn't always made the best decisions in life, has he?"

"Yeah, but Hillary's a freaking genius, so—"

"Are you all seriously debating the education of a child Connor and Brynn aren't even going to actually have?" Naba suddenly piped up, exasperated.

They all fell silent, looking a little sheepish. "Um, it seemed like a valid discussion until you put it that way," Connor admitted.

They ate in silence for a few seconds before Kevin spoke up again. "So, did Jami and Toaster Strudel have a reason for skipping out?"

Connor finished the rest of his wine. "Besides him still being bitter over you changing his nickname?" he said, pouring himself another glass. "They did, actually. His grandparents are visiting from Nevada and wanted to meet Jami over dinner."

"What about you?" Naba asked with a worried frown. "The Thomases didn't kick you out for the evening, did they?"

"Ugh, no, I kicked myself out," Connor said distastefully. "They're, well, not exactly the most lenient people in the world. When Toaster told them about Jami, the first words out of their mouths were, _Now she's a good Mormon girl, right_? Of course, he told them she was."

"But she's not Mormon," Arnold piped up.

"Technically she is," Brynn corrected him. "Her family hasn't been to church in like ten years, but they never officially left the church."

"He conveniently left that part out." Connor swirled the wine around in his glass. "Not that I blame him. He only sees them a few times a year, and I can see why he doesn't want to stir up trouble. But good God, the last time they were around while I was there, they carried on about how there was still time for me to redeem myself from my sinful lifestyle, and how I should repent so the church could welcome me back with open arms, and then apologize to my parents for making them disown me. As if _**I**_ was the one who ended that relationship."

He scowled and swiftly downed half the glass in one gulp. Kevin glanced around to see everyone wearing an expression similar to that of his own, a mixture of sympathy and discomfort.

"So about Jami and Toaster," Brynn said, clearly eager to change the subject. "Can I just say I'm shocked they've lasted this long? I mean, I totally thought he was gay. Seriously, I was about ninety percent sure the two of you hooked up in Uganda, Con."

Connor's prior bitterness instantly vanished, and he snorted. "No way. He's basically like my brother and definitely not my type." For a split second, his eyes flickered over to Kevin, who swallowed nervously. "Anyway, I can see how you got that vibe from him, Brynn, but it's not really a gay thing," Connor continued. "More of a Mormon thing, if that makes sense."

"Well whatever anyone assumed, he and Jami are happy now, and I think it's sweet," Naba said, always the diplomat.

"Yep! It's awesome," Arnold agreed. "Oh! Speaking of Toaster, who used to be Poptarts, if anyone's wondering where _**my**_ Poptart is, he's—"

"Was anyone actually wondering that?" Connor cut in. "I just figured he's shut off in Kevin's room with Bailey," Connor said.

"Nope. He's in my room, asleep. And if you're wondering why he's asleep, it's because Kevin had his balls cut off. Just cut right off!"

Kevin sighed. Not this again. "Are you still mad about that?" he said. "I told you, it was the responsible thing to do."

"He was gonna have puppies with a Dalmatian, Kev!" Arnold cried. "And make spotted Poptarts! That was the plan, and you ruined it."

"No it wasn't. You literally came up with that just now."

"Sam has not been fixed yet," Naba pointed out. "I plan to have that done, but I suppose I can first have him make a litter of spotted Poptarts when he's grown. He has the same genes."

"Nah, it won't be the same," Arnold replied. "Kevin already ruined it. Just cut Sam's balls off too, for all I care. Apparently it's the thing to do nowadays."

"It _**is**_ the thing to do, Arn," Kevin huffed, thoroughly fed up with the conversation. "Neither one of us has the time or money to handle another litter, and we can't just leave the owner of the mama dog to deal with it. The whole procedure's quick and harmless, and he doesn't even know any different. _**And**_ it's required for the dog park, so there."

"Bailey wasn't fixed and you took her there," Brynn said.

"Well she is now, and I didn't know she wasn't at the time. I didn't think to look into it much, okay? Nobody ever questions me there, because it's my dog park so I'm kind of a big deal," Kevin replied dismissively. "But anyway, can we finally move on? Just be glad I paid the vet bill for _**your**_ dog. That shit was expensive, you know."

"I agree with Kevin, actually," Connor said, draining his second glass. "It isn't responsible to breed dogs, not with how many are in the shelters." He reached for the bottle before Brynn snatched it away, topping off her glass and muttering something about letting her have her fair share before he finished it off.

"You're siding with him? Really?" Arnold said incredulously. "Typical. Just typical. I bet you're _**all**_ taking his side, aren't you?"

"Not me," Brynn said. "I mean, I don't think your dog's balls are worth crying over, but I'd never agree with Kevin over anything." Kevin sneered in response.

"You don't count, Brynn, you have other motives," Arnold replied. "Well, guess what, guys? Would you still be on his side if you knew his deepest, darkest secret?"

Kevin frowned. His darkest secret? What the hell was Arnold gonna say? What could he possibly—

Wait. Kevin furtively glanced over to Connor, and his stomach dropped. Did Arnold know about Kevin's dreams? Had he talked in his sleep while Arnold was in his room? Oh, shit. Wait, surely he wouldn't actually tell everyone about it like this—

"Remember last week when Kevin made that new spicy chicken and rice recipe he created?" It took a moment for him to register that Arnold was speaking again. "He lied. It was actually just Hamburger Helper with chicken instead of beef. I found the box in the trash."

Oh, thank Heavenly Father, whether he existed or not. Kevin almost breathed a sigh of relief—that is, until Arnold's words fully registered, and he realized he wasn't quite out of hot water yet. He scowled and squirmed uncomfortably.

"Wait," Naba said slowly. "Really?"

"That true, Kevin?" Brynn demanded. "Have you been passing off cheap boxed crap as homemade this whole time? Please tell me you have. It'll make my day, and I'll never let you live it down."

"No! Hell no," Kevin snapped. He sulked down in his seat indignantly, glaring at Arnold. "I make real food all the time. But, um...okay, it's possible that, maybe sometimes, you know, being a broke college student with two jobs and a ton of homework—look, I'm just saying that maybe I have to cut a few corners every once in awhile, all right?"

Connor swallowed a bite of pizza. "Look on the bright side," he said. "At least you made Hamburger Helper without it exploding. That's more than I've accomplished."

"I still don't understand," Naba said. "Kevin, why didn't you just say you made Hamburger Helper? It was good; we did not care what it was."

"Because I have a reputation to uphold."

"A reputation?" Brynn smirked. "Give me a break. You're not the only person in the world capable of making a fucking casserole, you know."

"Shut up, Brynn," Kevin bit back.

"Oh, he has a reputation, all right," Arnold said. "A reputation for trying to _**kill**_ us with his cooking."

"Hamburger Helper doesn't kill people, Arnold. And you love my cooking."

"I do; it's delicious," Arnold acquiesced. "But consider this, everyone. Haven't you noticed we've all gained weight since he started feeding us? Wanna know why? I'll tell you why. Butter. So much butter. Kevin puts it in everything. I've seen him do it countless times: _Oh, this recipe my grandma made calls for a tablespoon of butter? I'll put two tablespoons. Oh, I'm supposed to use olive oil? Let's substitute butter. Hey, I've got all the ingredients for these brownies laid out, but you know what would make them even better? Butter!_ "

"You're exaggerating. I don't use _**that**_ much butter," Kevin protested. "We haven't gained that much weight, either. And even if we had, I don't think I should held solely responsible for it. Take Connor, for example. He's gained weight because he's practically an alcoholic."

Everyone looked over at Connor, who had taken to drinking the last of the wine straight from the bottle. He faltered briefly when he noticed everyone staring at him, then simply shrugged and continued drinking away.

"Whatever. I'm tired of everyone arguing over stupid shit," Naba said with finality. "Connor is leaving for Missouri tomorrow. This is the last time we will be together for two months; we should all be pleasant to each other."

"She's right," Arnold admitted. "Kevin, I'm shouldn't have been picking fights. I was just mad because I wish you would've checked with me before getting rid of Poptart's balls. But I guess he didn't need them anyway." He looked over at Connor and brightened. "So Connor, what's that town you're going to called again?"

"St. Joseph."

"That's right. Wow, you're driving all the way to Missouri! How far is it?"

"About fifteen, sixteen hours, maybe? Something like that."

"You are stopping for the night halfway, right?" Naba asked.

"Nope," Connor replied simply.

"Connor," she began firmly. "You can't drive that long without stopping. You'll be too tired."

"I'll be fine," he said dismissively. When everyone else looked wary, he added, "Look, I'll stop if I really have to, okay? But I don't think it'll be an issue."

"Fine," Naba said, resigned. "Just promise me you'll stop if you get tired."

"I promise. I won't get tired, though."

"If you say so." Naba then looked up at Kevin and Brynn. "So, when do you two take your grad school tests?"

"June," Brynn replied. When Kevin followed up with "July," she turned to him and added, "You're gonna fail."

" _ **You're**_ gonna fail," he shot back.

"Your mom's gonna fail."

"My mom is _**not**_ gonna fail, because she'd never take the OAT in the first place, dumbass."

"Wow, what a snappy comeback," Brynn retorted sarcastically. "How do you come up with this shit?"

"Like you're one to talk. I wouldn't exactly call _your mom's gonna fail_ a stroke of genius, either," Kevin said. "You're just jealous because you know that I'm gonna do better at my test than you are on yours. Then I'll be at UC Berkeley while you're stuck at the U."

"Please, I'm not gonna end up at Utah," Brynn said with a little laugh. "Admit it, Kevin. I'm gonna be at a better school than you, if nothing else because I have more options. Notice how none of the Ivy Leagues or Stanford or any of those other top schools even have optometry programs? Probably because it doesn't matter enough—hell, you'll barely even be a real doctor."

"At least I'll be able to call myself a doctor, Miss J.D.!" Kevin snapped. "And who cares if the Ivy Leagues don't have optometry schools? UC Berkeley is just as prestigious as those places. Just because it's a public school doesn't mean it's some backward community college in Texas."

Brynn paused, looking him up and down. "Okay, I guess I'll give you that one," she conceded. "You know, I think if I got stuck at some mid-level state school, my career would be over."

"Me too," Kevin said. "I'd have to rethink my entire life. Again."

"Same."

Connor suddenly let out a harsh snort. "Oh my God, I can't take it anymore. Will you two shut the hell up?" he said harshly, and Kevin's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Do you realize how stupid and downright snotty you sound?"

Kevin's eyes flitted around to the others at the table, who were all wearing similar expressions of shock. Had Connor ever actually called anyone stupid before? "Um, excuse me?" he asked weakly.

"I swear, just listen to yourselves. Kevin, this is exactly what you did with med school. You got all hung up on Georgetown, and—"

"Johns Hopkins," Kevin corrected. Then he saw the annoyance in Connor's eyes and really wished he hadn't.

"Whatever," Connor sneered. "Now you're starting to do the same thing with UC Berkeley, and you don't even like California. Calm the hell down."

He turned to Brynn and continued his tirade "And Brynn. Yes, it would be great to go to Harvard or Stanford or Yale or GW or—heck, I don't know, wherever your first choice is. It changes every day. Anyway, yeah, those places are great, but let's be real, they're all so competitive that it's possible you won't get into any of them, so try not to act like your life depends on it, okay? Because really, it doesn't."

"No shit my life doesn't depend on it," she replied, clearly braver than Kevin was right now. "Just, you know, my career and everything I've worked for."

"Does it, now?" Connor said with a tight, humorless smile. "So what, Harvard's gonna hand you a six-figure job offer and a complimentary Lexus after graduation? Hate to break it to you, but the market's so over-saturated with lawyers that you have no clue what's gonna happen. Hell, two of my cousins went to law school. One went to University of Idaho and works for one of the best law firms in Seattle, while the other went to Duke and currently does some transcribing thing or another while making sandwiches at Subway on the weekends. Program recognition only gets you so far, you know."

"Like you're one to talk," she said. "Naba told me how badly you always wanted to go to NYU."

Naba's eyes widened a bit, and she scooted down ever so slightly in her seat. Connor didn't seem perturbed, however.

"That's right," he said. "But now I'm here, and I'm doing just fine. Besides, now I know that NYU's a greedy shitshow that charges their students over $70k a year so they can buy their millionaire presidents beach houses on Fire Island. You see? It all works out."

"The NYU peeps are gonna give you some choice words for shitting all over their school, my friend," Brynn told him.

"I'll keep an eye out for the hate mail," he said with a dismissive wave. "But anyway, my point is that Harvard's not guarantee you anything after graduation expect a nice and steady long-term relationship with your new friend Sallie Mae. So Kevin, Brynn, both of you, just—just find some backups and make the most out of it, wherever you end up. Okay?"

Kevin just shrugged in response, but Brynn wasn't finished. "Have you ever considered becoming a motivational speaker?" she said dryly, with a hint of humor. " _Harvard doesn't want you. Stanford doesn't want you either, and NYU's a bunch of assholes. The market's over-saturated and the polar bears are dying. George Bush doesn't care about black people. Consider community college_. Boy, they'd be banging down your door to sign you up."

"Great, and you could be my speaking partner," Connor quipped back. "We'd be _**really**_ popular then." Brynn's only response was a snort.

"Why do we always, always end up arguing when we're all together?" Naba muttered under her breath.

The evening was relatively calm from that point onward. Not long after they were all completely stuffed, so Brynn and Naba took their leave—Naba hugging Connor for about two minutes straight, wishing him luck and making him promise yet again that he would stop at a hotel if he became too tired to drive. Arnold then wandered off into his room, leaving Kevin and Connor to clean up.

"Was I too mean earlier?" Connor asked.

Kevin shrugged as he gathered up the boxes. "Not really. I mean, I guess it's kind of true."

"Still though. I'm sorry for yelling at you. And for implying that Brynn's gonna be working at Subway; I'm sure you'll both find stable employment in your fields."

"Well I hope so," Kevin replied with a laugh. "But hey, don't worry about it. Honestly, I don't think it's possible to actually offend Brynn.'

"Right. Well, anyway." Connor picked up his messenger bag and paused, fishing through it until he located a small wrapped box. He held it out and smiled. "Happy birthday."

"It's not my birthday."

"I know that, but I won't be in town when it is." Connor thrust it out toward him impatiently. "Go on, open it."

Kevin felt a wave of gratitude coupled with a twinge of guilt as he took the box. "You didn't have to get me anything," he said. What little savings Connor had managed to build up over the past few years had been quickly depleted last week when he'd been forced to replace the struts and shocks on his crappy old car.

"Don't be silly; of course I did," Connor scoffed. "It's nothing big, really. Just, come on, open it already."

Kevin finally gave in, tearing off the paper and opening up the box. He frowned in confusion when he spotted the triangle of purple fabric inside, bearing their school's logo.

"What's this—wait, did you make Bailey a Weber State doggie bandana?" Sure enough, when he picked it up he noticed the little slot sewn across the top for her collar to slide through. "Oh my God, that's adorable. Aww, and you made a tiny one for Poptart, too!" He turned back to Connor and beamed. "Did you make these yourself?"

"I've been sewing costumes for years; a couple bandanas were nothing," Connor chuckled. "Remember Gina?"

"RA on Floor 2 last year?" Kevin clarified. "Drive-a-Prius-save-the-trees? That Gina?"

"Right, her. She gives campus tours now, so I had her snag a couple shirts from Admissions. I was gonna use the ones they gave us in ResLife this year, but honestly, they're kind of ugly."

"These are perfect. Thank you so much, Connor; I love them."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you like them."

Kevin neatly placed the bandanas back in the box, then set it aside to begin gathering up the dirty plates. "Hey, Connor?" he began tentatively. "Um, don't take this the wrong way, but...are you okay?"

Connor tossed the empty wine bottle and the used napkins in the trash. "What do you mean?"

"Just...I don't know. You seemed pretty upset about Toaster's grandma and your parents earlier."

"Oh, that." The sour look from earlier was back on Connor's face. "It's fine. Nothing I'm not used to."

Kevin sighed as he began making dishwater. "I can't stand the way they've treated you," he said.

"Neither can I." Connor frowned as he watched Kevin work. "You have a dishwasher, you know."

"There's only five plates and a couple glasses."

"You can still use the dishwasher."

"Gina wouldn't want me using the dishwasher," Kevin playfully retorted as he began scrubbing. "Do you have any extended family who support you? Aunts, uncles, cousins?"

"Ah, yes. Aunt Tess and Uncle Hyrum," Connor said dryly. "Both annual donors to BYUI. Great people, big into charity work, and totally not hypocrites at all."

"I'm sorry," Kevin replied.

"Don't be; it's not your fault. And it's not all bad, you know?"

Kevin shot him a skeptical look. It sure as hell sounded bad.

"Okay, maybe it is," Connor acquiesced. He leaned against the counter, gazing down at the floor. "But it doesn't always feel quite like this. Depends on the day, really. Sometimes I feel like I'd give anything for them to take me back, and other times I just...ugh, I just hate them so much, Kev. You know last summer during my—well, my drunk summer, as everyone's taken to calling it—there were times I didn't even feel like going out, and I went anyway just because I knew that if they could see me, they'd have a fit."

Kevin mulled over an appropriate response as he finished rinsing. "That's, um...that's not really a good reason, Connor," he settled with lamely.

"I never said it was. You're telling me you've never done something stupid just to piss off your parents?"

Kevin thought back to the letter he'd sent from Uganda right after they'd fallen from the church's good graces. He'd written it while hyped up on five cups of coffee and carried on and on about how they'd lied to him his whole life, about how he knew they'd be upset but it didn't matter because they were brainwashed cattle who never took him on a second trip to Disney World, so who's fault was this, really?

He winced at the memory; maybe Connor was onto something.

"But enough of all that," Connor suddenly said, straightening up and plastering a smile back on his face. "It's getting late, and I've still got some packing to do. Thanks for dinner, it was great."

"Sure." Kevin stuck the last of the plates on the drying rack. "Am I gonna see you again before you leave?"

"Not unless you plan to be up at the crack of dawn."

"Well, call me when you get there, okay?"

"Will do."

They hugged once Kevin had finished drying his hands, and maybe they lingered a little longer than necessary, and Kevin might have felt his stomach flutter a bit as he breathed in the scent of Connor's aftershave, but that was probably only because they wouldn't be seeing each other for two months so Kevin would miss him a little. Just a little. Right?

* * *

_The Next Evening_

Kevin was lounging on the sofa browsing recipes for homemade dog treats on Pinterest when his phone buzzed with a call from Connor. He couldn't possibly be there yet, could he? Frowning, Kevin set his laptop aside and answered the call.

"Hey, you," he said. "What's up?"

"Kevin." Connor's voice was the epitome of distressed boredom. "Uganda is _**not**_ the worst place in the world."

"Well yeah, we knew that already," Kevin replied. "What are you talking about?"

"I found the worst place in the world, Kevin. I'm here, in it right now. It's called western Kansas."

"Kansas?" Kevin furrowed his brow, thoroughly confused. "What the hell are you doing in Kansas? Shouldn't you be going through Wyoming and Nebraska?"

"Well yeah, that's the route I planned to take, but then I took a wrong turn and I figured might as well take I-70, because supposedly it's flatter and I thought it would be easier, right?" He let out a short, derisive laugh. "But oh my God, Kevin, it really, truly is flat. It's so, _**so**_ flat, and it's been like this for hours and I'm losing my damn mind. There is _**nothing**_ here, Kevin, nothing. I think I'm the only person within a hundred miles. I'm gonna grow old and die on this interstate."

"All right, look, calm down—"

"There aren't even trees, Kevin." Now he sounded like he was having a small meltdown, and Kevin was starting to get a little concerned for his sanity. "There was a lighting storm earlier, and it must've struck the one damn tree in this whole state, because I'm looking out on my left and I can see this single thing on fire in the distance. Only it's got nowhere to spread, so it's just this one lonely tree burning up out there. I feel like I need to pull over and go to it; I just might be the second Moses."

Kevin rubbed his temples with the fingers on his free hand. "Connor, don't you dare go out to that tree."

"But I _**have**_ to, Kev. It's calling me."

"Okay, you clearly need to take break. Pull off at the next town and get a hotel room for the night."

"What next town? I told you, there's nothing here. I haven't seen a town since Colorado."

"You can't tell me there's no towns, Connor," Kevin said with an eye roll.

"Well, a while back I kept seeing billboards that said _Hays, Kansas: small town, big fun_ or something like that," Connor replied. "But apparently it's so small I drove past it without realizing it was there, so I think they were lying about the fun part."

Kevin pulled his laptop back over, and then quickly scanned over the state on Google Maps. "You missed Hays?" he cried after a moment. "How could you miss Hays?"

"Because I'm not entirely sure Hays exists, dear. It probably did at one point, but then I entered some sort of space-time continuum, and now it's just a post-apocalyptic wasteland with the occasional cow or windmill."

Kevin ignored him, squinting at the map. "What about Salina?" he asked. "Did you pass Salina?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Then stop when you get there," Kevin said firmly. "I'll send you a check for the hotel bill if I have to, but for the love of God, just stop in Salina."

"But I don't _**want**_ to stop in Salina, Kevin." Connor's tone was borderline whiny. "I don't want to stop in Kansas at all. I feel like if I stop here I'll somehow get sucked in by the flat void. Then I'll end up staying here, living a simple but pleasant life, raising a couple kids, and eventually retiring out of the state public employee system."

"Really, Connor? I'm seriously starting to worry for your well-being."

"You and me both. I hear their retirement is average at best."

"Well you're at least gonna need gas eventually, so suck it up," Kevin replied.

"No, I got that somewhere in between Colorado and Hays."

"You stopped for gas?" Kevin squinted at the map, trying to decipher exactly how many miles existed between Hays and the Colorado border. "I thought you said there weren't any towns."

"It wasn't a town," Connor corrected him. "Just a couple random gas pumps off an exit. I know you probably think I'm full of shit, but I'm dead serious here."

"Look you really don't sound like yourself, okay? You've been on the road too long. So just...um, talk to me for a while, okay? About whatever. Tell me about the plays you're doing."

Connor prattled on for the next thirty minutes about his characters, his conversations with the director and transferring to the St. Joseph Olive Garden for the summer. Slowly but surely, he seemed to relax into his usual demeanor. An hour later they were still chatting about nothing in particular, though, and he suddenly went silent.

"Connor?" Kevin asked, his stomach tightening.

A few seconds passed, Kevin's heart racing, before Connor spoke up. "Oh my God," he said, his voice faint. "Ugh, no. What the hell."

"Connor, what happened? What's wrong?" Kevin was positively panicking now. "Are you okay? Talk to me, Connor!"

"I think this becomes a toll road at some point," he finally elaborated. "They're gonna make me _**pay**_ to be on this damn thing."

Kevin faltered, the fear quickly dissolving into annoyance. "You asshole," he snapped. "Do you have any idea how freaked out I was over here? I thought you'd hit something, or that your car had—"

"What could I have possibly hit? There's nothing here, remember?"

"Whatever," Kevin said with another eyeroll. "Do you want to keep talking, or—"

"No, I'm fine. I need to save my battery."

"Okay, just call me when you get there, or if you stop for the night or need anything else, okay?"

"I'll do that. Thanks."

Kevin ended the call and turned back to Pinterest, but his eyes kept straying back to the phone.

Over the next three hours, Kevin took the dogs out for a bathroom break several times, baked brownies for the hell of it, got twenty minutes into studying for the OAT before giving up, and lunged for his phone the one time it buzzed, only to deflate when he saw it was just a text from Naba asking if they wanted to have a doggie play date with Jami tomorrow. He finally decided to start a new series on Netflix and was halfway into an episode of _Gilmore Girls_ when Connor finally called.

"Did you make it?" He answered without a proper greeting. "Are you okay?"

"I made it," Connor replied, his voice tired and faint. "And I'm okay."

Kevin heaved a sigh of relief. "Great. How's the town?"

"Haven't really seen it yet. The school's nice. It has buildings. And the res hall they've got us in is nice. It has windows and doors and hallways…" He drifted off, and Kevin heard him let out a long yawn. "I'm really tired."

"Get some sleep," Kevin advised. "And keep me posted on rehearsals, okay? I wish I could see you perform."

"Me too. Goodnight, Kev. Tell Naba and Toaster I made it, 'kay?"

"Sure thing. Night." Kevin stared at the screen long after the call ended, lost in thought. He wished he could be there. And Connor wished he could be there, too…

He suddenly leapt up and bounded toward Arnold's room, flinging the door open. "Guess what?" he said.

Arnold, who'd been playing a game on his computer, about fell out of his seat in shock. "Kevin, you can't just barge in here without knocking. I could've been in my birthday suit!"

"So? Exactly how many times now have you come out of the bathroom naked after a shower?"

"And you always yell at me about how you don't want to see that. So knock next time!"

"Fine. Anyhow, guess what? I think we should visit Connor."

Arnold blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah! You, me, Naba, anyone that can make it, really. We can get a cheap flight to KC, rent a car, pitch in on a hotel room, and then surprise him on his opening night."

"Oh, that'd be so cool! For both plays?"

"No, just the first one. I'm not made of money, you know."

Arnold nodded. "Far enough. I'm in."

Kevin grinned, then ducked out to send those texts.

* * *

_One Month Later_

"Well," Arnold began, surveying the gates around them. "This is kind of a podunk airport."

"It's fine," Kevin said dismissively, pulling him and Naba along to baggage claim. "Why exactly did you have to check your bag, Arn?"

"Because it's free on Southwest!"

"We're only staying one night."

"Still, though. Gotta take advantage of freebies."

Kevin just shook his head. Luckily Arnold's bag was one of the first to arrive, so they were able to head outside in a matter of minutes.

"Wow," Arnold said, looking around at the drab walls of the circular building. "This is _**really**_ a podunk airport."

"I think it is wonderful," Naba said dreamily. "I can't believe we're actually in Jackson county!"

"We're not in Jackson county," Kevin told her matter-of-factly. She turned to him, surprised.

"We're not?"

"No, this is Platte. Jackson's two counties away."

"Oh," she replied, barely able to hide her disappointment. "Well will we be going there later?"

"Nope. Buchanan." Upon seeing her glum expression, he quickly added, "We can drive there tomorrow morning, if you'd like. Our flight doesn't leave until the evening."

"Oh, good!" she exclaimed. "I know it is probably nothing special, but after hearing those Mormon stories, it would be a shame to come this close and not visit, you know?"

"I get it," Kevin replied. Spotting the shuttle, he hurried forward and motioned for them to follow. "Come on, let's go."

They made it to Enterprise and were handed the keys to a basic Kia Rio without issue, and then they were on their way. They'd made it about 5 miles on I-29 before Arnold let out a long, bored sigh from the passenger seat. When the other two ignored him, he resorted to announcing every exit they passed.

"Platte City," he read about five miles later. Then it was "Main Street," and "Tracy" followed not long after. Finally, when Arnold announced, "Weigh Station," Kevin snapped.

"Can you stop?" he said.

"But I'm bored," Arnold whined. "We just had that long flight, and now this—I thought it would be closer, Kevin."

"It's not much longer, all right? Now shut up."

"Cranky butt," Arnold muttered. Then he brightened. "Hey, can I drive?"

Kevin felt his eye twitch. "What?"

"Can I drive? You said you were gonna teach me this summer, but you haven't. So can I drive now? Connor's been teaching Naba. Well, he was before he left."

"You want to drive for the first time on a busy interstate in the rental car," Kevin deadpanned slowly.

"Sure!"

"No. Hell no. Besides, I haven't started teaching you yet because you haven't bothered to take the written test. You don't have your permit, Arnold. So what exactly would we do if you got pulled over?"

"We'd all keep our mouths shut," Arnold replied.

"Do you even know how getting pulled over works?" Kevin questioned, bemused.

"No. Do you? Have you ever been pulled over?"

"Nope," Kevin said proudly. "I've got a perfect driving record.

"Me too," Arnold said. "So perfect, it's nonexistent."

Naba chuckled, and in the rearview mirror Kevin saw her gaze thoughtfully out the window. "This is a nice state," she said. "Not as pretty as Utah, but still nice."

"I know," Kevin added. "I love rural America."

"That's interesting, considering you want to live in Orlando," Arnold pointed out.

"Correction: I want to live in a small suburb of Orlando," Kevin replied. "It's the best of both worlds, really: a small-town life where I can still regularly take the kids to all the parks."

"How many kids do you want, Kevin?" Naba asked.

"Probably three," Kevin replied. "A boy and two girls."

"Really? Only three?" Arnold asked, surprised. "Oh, man, I want a ton of kids! Four or five, at least." Kevin glanced into the mirror and spotted Naba pursing her lips in distaste, and he had to cover his mouth to keep Arnold from seeing his amused grin.

"Hey, speaking of Orlando, you know what we should do?" he said after a moment. "Let's go there next summer! It can be our graduation gift to ourselves."

"But I won't have graduated yet," Naba pointed out. "I will still have one more semester."

"So? It'll just be an early present, then. Come on, we totally have to do it. It might be the last time we're all together for a long time. And you both have to experience Orlando; I can't believe you've never been. We'll have to start saving like, tomorrow."

"Why?" Arnold asked. "My parents can probably pay for me and Naba."

"Fine, those of us who don't have rich parents have to start saving tomorrow."

When they reached a series of exits to St. Joseph, Arnold let out a delighted squeal. "We're here!" he cried. "Look at the sign! Missouri Western State University. That's Connor's college! Turn here, Kevin, it says turn here!"

"I know," Kevin said as he pulled onto the exit. "I can read too, Arnold."

Once they reached Mitchell Avenue, Kevin turned onto the university's main drive, shielded his eyes against the blinding glare of a shiny abstract griffon statue, and then pulled up into visitor parking.

"Okay," Naba began once they were stalled. "Now what?"

"Um," Kevin chewed his bottom lip in thought. "Well, he's in one of the dorms. Does anyone know which one?"

Arnold shrugged and gestured toward the building in front of them. "I don't know, but this is Popplewell. See? It says so, right there."

"That looks like an academic building, though," Kevin explained. "Do you see anything that looks like dorms anywhere?"

"I see Popplewell."

"We're not looking for Popplewell, Arn."

"No Popplewell?"

"No, Arnold. Now make yourself useful and pull up the map on your phone. See if you can find the residence halls."

"Why don't we just call Connor?" Naba asked. "He can tell us where to go."

"Because then it won't be a surprise," Kevin replied.

"I know what we can do!" Arnold said. "We go in Popplewell, and we ask—"

"I swear, Arnold, if you say Popplewell one more time—"

"Boys!" Naba snapped. "Shut up. Let's just call Connor, okay? The call will be surprise enough. That way if he is in rehearsal or at Olive Garden, we will know."

Arnold nodded. "Okay, I'll call him." He put his phone on speaker, and Connor answered after the second ring.

"Hi, Arnold," he said. "What's up?"

"Surprise!" Arnold shouted. "We're at Popplewell!"

There was a pause on Connor's end. "Um, okay," Connor finally replied. "What's that?"

"Popplewell, Connor! You don't know Popplewell?" Kevin felt his face tick.

"We're in St. Joseph, Connor," Naba said before Arnold could add anything else. "Me and Kevin and Arnold. Right here, on campus."

Another pause. "Are you serious?" Connor finally said incredulously. "Are you serious?! Oh my gosh, you guys! I can't believe you—oh my gosh, really?"

"Yes, really," Kevin said with a smile. "Are you here? We don't know what dorm you're in."

"They're called residence halls, Kevin. But yes, I'm here. In Vaselakos."

"Oh, okay, cool!" Arnold craned his neck, gazing out all the windows. "Which one's Vasectomy? Is that the one next to Popplewell?"

"Vaselakos, Arnold," Connor corrected. "And I don't know, because I've only been in two of the buildings here. Which one's Popplewell?"

Arnold pointed ahead. "This one."

"You know I can't actually see you, right?"

"Never mind, guys," Kevin said, locating the campus map on his phone. "I'll find you. Give us a minute, okay, Con?"

He put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking space. As they made their way along the main drive, Arnold commented, "This is kind of a podunk college."

Connor was waiting outside of the building when they arrived. Naba was the first one to reach him, and he threw his arms around her.

"Oh my gosh, I can't believe you're here," he said, before pulling away from her and moving on to Arnold. "You came all this way just to see me? Did you drive or fly? You didn't take 70, did you? Please tell me you didn't take 70."

"We flew," Kevin replied, moving in for his turn.

Connor pulled back from him long enough to glance over at the vehicle. "Right, that's not your car," he said, then leaned back into the hug. "Well anyway, I'm so happy you're all here. I'm freaking out and I don't feel prepared at all."

"Don't be silly," Naba chided. "You're going to be amazing."

Connor pulled away from Kevin for real this time. "Maybe. Or maybe I'll be a disaster and everyone will see it," he said. "Did you know the president's coming tonight? The president!"

Arnold gasped. "Of the United States?!"

Connor shot him a look of disdain. "Of the university, Arnold," he said. "What if I'm horrible and he tells the our president? All the presidents talk; I'm sure they do. Then it'll be _nope, Connor, no graduation for you_!"

"You're exaggerating," Kevin said. "You won't be a disaster, the president's gonna love you, and everyone else will, too. Okay?"

Connor nodded, though he still looked a little doubtful. "I have to get to the theatre soon," he said. "Where're you staying?"

"Days Inn," Kevin replied.

"Right. Well, go ahead and get checked in and explore the town some. There's not much to it; it kind of reminds me of Ogden, actually. But they have a lot of Pony Express stuff and the mall made a really bad commercial that went viral a while back, so there's that." With a tentative little smile, he added, "I'll see you all later, okay? Have I mentioned how happy I am you're here?"

He gave them all one more hug and sent them on their way. Once they reached the Belt Highway and headed north, Arnold said, "This is kind of a podunk town. I'm sensing a trend."

* * *

_That Evening_

Naba smiled in anticipation as she, Kevin, and Arnold all settled into their seats.

"This is kind of a podunk theatre," Arnold loudly remarked.

"Shh!" Naba chided him as an older couple sitting a few seats over glared in their direction.

"Aw, look, he's in the program!" Kevin said happily, practically shoving the page under Naba's nose. "See, right there! It says _Marius_ , and then _Connor McKinley_." After flipping through the next few pages, he added, "And look, he has a bio and his headshot and everything! I'm keeping this."

Naba shook her head in bemusement, but inside she was just as proud as Kevin.

The lights went down after a few minutes, the show began, and fifteen minutes later Naba had decided that she was never, ever attending a dramatic three-hour production with Arnold ever again.

"Have you seen this before?" he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Yes," she hissed. "Well, I have seen the movie. Now be quiet."

"Why are they singing?"

"Because it's a musical," she whispered in annoyance.

"Yeah, but they're singing like, the whole time. That weird show Connor did with the pee was a musical, but they at least talked sometimes."

"It is a different style. Now hush."

Twenty blissfully silent minutes passed, before Arnold spoke again. "Where's Connor?"

"Quiet!" she said as harshly as she could while still maintaining a low whisper. "He shows up later."

"How much later? He's the only reason I'm here."

"It will be a while."

"How long is a while?"

"Shut up!" With Arnold once again subdued, she turned her focus back to the stage.

The lack of distraction was short-lived, however. Valjean was in the middle of adopting Cosette from the Thenardiers when Arnold muttered, "I think Connor lied to us about being in this. I don't think he's ever gonna show up."

"Arnold," she hissed. "Be quiet, please. Give it a few more minutes—"

That was when she heard a small, quiet snore from her other side, and she turned to find Kevin sound asleep in his seat. She nudged him sharply, and he started.

"Wha—" he began in a hushed tone, and quickly straightened up. "What'd I miss? Has Connor come on?"

"Nope." Arnold leaned all the way over Naba to whisper right in Kevin's ear.

"He hasn't?" Kevin frowned and squinted at his watch in the dark. "But it's been forever." He looked ahead at the stage for a few seconds, before turning to Naba helplessly. "I'm lost. Where'd Fantine go?"

She rolled her eyes.

Both of them became much more invested once the music picked up and Connor appeared with the other schoolboys. In the middle of "A Heart Full of Love," though, Arnold leaned toward Naba once more.

"I don't get why this Eponine chick likes Connor so much," he said. "Doesn't she know he's gay?"

"He is not gay," she snapped.

Arnold stared at her incredulously. "Oh honey, where've you been?" he said. "Connor's the gayest gay I know!"

She sighed and tried very, very hard not to snap. "She loves his _**character**_ , not him," she explained as patiently as she could.

Arnold just frowned. "But his character's stupid," he said. "I can think of, like, five better guys to have a crush on. The Enroljas guy, the Valjean dude, the bishop—"

"Arnold. Just shut up, okay? Watch the damn show."

"He's plain old white bread, Naba. White Wonder bread."

"Pay attention, Arnold!"

Arnold's comments eventually drifted off; the grim nature of so many characters dying one by one must have thoroughly subdued him. This meant Naba was able to enjoy the rest of the play in relative peace, the only interruption being a few sniffles from Kevin during "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables."

She couldn't really fault him for that, Naba decided. Connor was giving an incredible performance, and he really had no reason at all to be so stressed earlier.

When the show was over they all rose for curtain call, and Naba tried to applaud loudly for every single actor in order to make up for her friends' bad behavior. They then made their way into the lobby to wait for Connor to finish cleaning up.

"Well, that was good," Kevin remarked.

"You fell asleep," Naba challenged.

"I tried hard to stay awake, it was just really, really long," Kevin said defensively. He cracked a teasing smirk and added, "You don't think the president saw me, do you? I heard all the presidents talk, and I can't have that on my hands."

It took Connor a while to finish up, but they finally spotted him heading down the hallway toward them, chatting animatedly with the Fantine actress. When he noticed them, he broke out into a huge grin.

"Hey, guys. Sorry for making you wait. Bye, Adrianne!" he added as Fantine gave him a pat on the arm and took her leave. "So, what'd you think?"

"It was amazing!" Naba gushed, rushing toward him for a hug. "You were incredible."

"Yeah, it was cool," Arnold chimed in. "You're character definitely wasn't my favorite, though. Probably bottom four. But you did real good playing him!"

"Aw, that's sweet, thank you," Connor said. "Have you eaten yet? There's this Mexican place down the road, and I think it's dollar-margarita day."

"You are not celebrating with your castmates?" Naba asked.

"Nah. I've got several more chances to celebrate with them. You're only in town tonight."

"Great. Let's go, I'm starving," Kevin said with finality as he started for the door.

The dinner was great, especially considering it was the first time any of them had actually been able to have a real conversation with Connor all day. He told them all about rehearsals, his favorite castmates, how he definitely preferred his boss at the Ogden Olive Garden over the one here, and of course he made sure to let Kevin know that Valjean had definitely noticed him sleeping through most of Act One. Naba giggled as she watched Kevin's face grow bright red.

"So, what're you all doing tomorrow?" Connor asked later as they left the restaurant. "Heading straight to the airport, or do you have other plans first?"

"We are getting breakfast here and then going to Jackson county," Naba explained brightly.

"I should've known," Connor said with a chuckle. "There's this place that serves breakfast around here that's supposed to be really good. My roommate Mark—remember him, the one who played Grantaire? Anyhow, he goes to school here, and he practically swears by it. I forget the name; I'll have to get it from him."

They all said their goodbyes in the parking lot, and all too soon Connor was driving back to campus. Naba watched him go with a little sinking feeling in her chest, but she quickly cheered herself up by remembering their next adventure tomorrow.

* * *

_That Night_

Kevin was restless.

Usually, he had no trouble falling asleep. But tonight, on this strange hotel bed with Naba and Arnold—who were both so cute and annoying and disgustingly in love—snoozing on the other side of the room, he was wide awake. Wide awake and sick of tossing and turning.

He threw the covers off of him and stood up. Quietly so as not to wake the other two, he grabbed a change of clothes and then crept into the bathroom. Once he was presentable, he slipped out into the hallway, then called Connor as he made it outside and unlocked the car.

"Hi, Kevin," Connor answered. Thankfully, he didn't sound like he'd just woken up.

"I'm coming back to campus," Kevin said.

That seemed to give Connor pause. "Um, okay. Why?"

"Because I can't sleep. And I'm bored, and…" _I just really want to see you again_. "And I figure it'll probably be more fun hanging out there with you."

"Okay, sure. That's fine. I'm not really sure what we'll do, though."

"We'll figure something out. See you in a bit." Kevin hung up and turned the key in the ignition.

Connor was waiting outside once again when Kevin pulled into the residence hall's parking lot. "Hey," he said, smiling as Kevin stepped out of the car. "Um, do Naba and Arnold know you're here?"

"No." Kevin locked up and slipped the keys into his pocket. "They're asleep. I didn't want to wake them."

"Okay." Connor crossed his arms, at a loss. "Well, what d'you want to do?"

"Can we go for a walk? You can give me a tour."

"Oh, I can, huh?" Connor said with a little laugh. "Fine, but keep in mind I don't much about this place."

They headed out a little and then strolled along the sidewalk circling the outer perimeter of campus. An awkward silence fell between them, and Connor cleared his throat.

"So, um, welcome to Missouri Western State University," he said. "It's a lot like Weber State, except smaller than Weber State, and it's in, well, Missouri. Western Missouri, to be exact." He pointed toward a building on their right. "That's Fulkerson Center; I'm not sure what goes on there. And that's Leah Spratt Hall, and it—hey, it houses the Walter Cronkite Memorial! Remember Walter Cronkite? Missouri native, great guy." He looked up at Kevin with a proud little smile. "I think I'm actually doing pretty good at this whole tour thing, don't you?"

Kevin looked over at the buildings, reading a sign that said "Fulkerson Center," another that said "Leah Spratt Hall," and a third that read "Walter Cronkite Memorial."

"Sure, Con," he said dryly. "You're a natural."

Connor gave him a playful smack on the shoulder. "I tried, okay? Come on, there's a pretty clock tower this way."

He lead Kevin clear across ] the other side of campus, and the awkwardness between the two gradually faded. Before they knew it, they were running around like a couple of slap-happy idiots, racing each other on the sidewalks throughout campus and stopping in front of Popplewell to deliver their best Arnold impressions.

"Hey," Kevin said with a grin as they neared Hearnes. "Let's break into the Center for Academic Support."

Connor raised an eyebrow. "Are you drunk?"

"Of course not; I have a perfectly valid reason. I need to compare their tutoring resources to our tutoring resources, for work-related purposes."

"That's nice, hon, but I still suspect you're drunk. Or sleep deprived. One of the two."

"Oh yeah?" Kevin challenged. "Could a drunk person race you down to the union and win?"

With that he took off down the sidewalk, but only made it about halfway before slowing to walk, because they'd already done some running and maybe there was a sliver of truth to Connor's sleep-deprived comment. He settled down on the ledge of a fountain bearing a large griffon statue and waited for Connor to catch up.

"I think we should call it a night," Connor said, taking a seat next to him.

"But I don't want to," Kevin protested in a very manly voice, not whiny _**at all**_.

"You'll live."

"I guess," Kevin sighed. He felt himself lean over to rest his head against Connor's shoulder. They sat like that for a long time, and Kevin felt his stomach tense but he really, really didn't want to break this intimacy between them.

"You know," he said quietly. "You were really good in the show tonight."

"Thank you."

Kevin finally pulled back so he could meet Connor's eyes. Oh God, those gorgeous, amazing blue eyes that he could lose himself in for hours. "I'm really proud of you Connor," he said, barely in control of his own words. "Everything you've accomplished, it's...you're incredible, Con."

Connor stared back at him for a few perfect, magical seconds, and then he leaned forward and abruptly closed the distance between their lips. Kevin froze.

It was less than a second before Connor realized exactly what he'd done and pulled away. "Oh my God," he said, clapping his hand over his mouth. "Shit, I—Kevin, I'm so sorry."

Kevin just gazed at him, frozen and slackjawed.

"I don't know what I—nevermind, just...I should go."

"Connor." Kevin finally found his voice again as Connor stood up. "Connor, wait."

Connor ignored him and started forward, so Kevin hurried after him.

"Connor!" he called. "Connor, wait. Stop!"

He finally caught up to Connor and latched his hand around his wrist, pulling him back.

"Kevin what're you—" Connor began as the other spun him around, but was cut off when Kevin kissed with with a ferocity he barely knew he had in him. Connor gave a little yelp of surprise, but then melted into the kiss without protest.

 _I can't be doing this. I have to stop this. Why am I doing this_? The thoughts resonated throughout Kevin's brain, but he pushed them aside. He had no reason—no good reason, at least—but all he knew was that he'd never wanted anything more in his life.

"Kevin," Connor said through a breathless little sigh when they pulled away briefly for air, reaching up to comb his hands through Kevin's hair. "What're we doing?"

Kevin just shrugged and moved back in to capture Connor's lips once more, but Connor pulled back. "No really, Kevin," he persisted. "What are we doing? I need to know before this goes any further."

Shit. Now Kevin couldn't distract himself from all those pesky little thoughts swarming around his head at all. He looked over at Connor, feeling his heartstrings tug while his mind screamed at him to stop, stop this _**right now**_.

"We aren't together," he replied. He tried to ignore the hurt look on Connor's face as he elaborated, "We can't be together. We can never be together. But, um, I really like you, so maybe, well, right now we can...sort of...pretend we're together?"

Connor's eyes narrowed, and Kevin knew he could see just how contradictory and downright selfish his request was. But clearly he felt that intense, addicting pull between them as well, because he nevertheless stepped forward, slid his hands back into Kevin's hair, and then claimed his mouth in his own.

"Come back to my room," he breathed.

* * *

_The Next Morning_

Connor woke up with Kevin's back pressed against his chest, feeling a sense of complete and utter bliss. He propped himself up on his elbow to gaze down at his still-sleeping bed partner. With a loving smile, he pushed a lock of hair away from Kevin's eyes.

They hadn't done anything that wasn't perfectly PG; in fact, they were both still fully dressed in their street clothes. At one point, after they'd made their way back to Connor's suite and shut themselves off in his room, Connor had slipped his hand just barely beneath the waistband of Kevin's jeans. Kevin had tensed and jerked back, and Connor hadn't pushed the matter any further.

Careful not to disturb Kevin, Connor slid out of bed and headed out into the kitchenette. He flipped on his roommate's coffeemaker and then went about brewing a pot (it was one of the few things he could actually trust himself to successfully make in the kitchen). Once he'd brushed his teeth, washed his face, and had a full, steaming mug in hand, he returned to his room and perched on the edge of the bed.

"Kevin," he said, giving the other a little shake. "Wake up."

Kevin just groaned and buried his head further into the pillow.

"Come on, Kev. I know it's early, but Naba wants to go down to KC, remember?"

Kevin blearily opened his eyes then, suddenly appearing to remember where he was and what had occurred last night. Connor went rigid, fearing the worst, but luckily Kevin only sat up and eyed the mug.

"You made coffee?" he said.

"Mmhm. You do take it with cream, right?"

Kevin nodded and reached for the mug. "You know me so well," he said.

He downed it quicker than Connor suspected was healthy for anyone, and then stood up and stretched. "Where's your bathroom?" he asked.

"Out the door and down the tiny hallway thing. The door straight ahead's Mark's room, and the one on the left is the bathroom."

"Got it." Kevin stepped forward and then paused. "Um, my toothbrush is back at the hotel."

"Use mine."

Kevin made a face. "You're okay with sharing your toothbrush?"

"Hon, your tongue was down my throat last night. I think it'll be fine."

Kevin gave a little nod and stepped out, and Connor set about washing his mug.

Kevin returned from the bathroom shortly after and faced Connor in the kitchenette, looking almost shy. "So," he said.

"So," Connor repeated vaguely.

"I guess I should head out. Um," he paused, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "Is it okay if I…"

He stepped forward a little hesitantly, and Connor was more than happy to meet him halfway.

 _We aren't together. We can't be together_. Kevin's words rang through Connor's memory as they kissed for the umpteenth time in eight hours. He should hate himself for giving in like this. Whatever Kevin's deal was, he didn't want this to go any further, so what they were doing right now would only lead to problems later on down the road. But how could he resist? Kevin's lips, his hands, his tongue, they all just felt so damn good.

"I'll walk you out," he said when they broke away.

They were quiet as they made their way down the hallway, through the stairwell, and out to the parking lot, neither one having any clue what was appropriate to say right now. Finally, Kevin reached the Kia and looked over at Connor.

"Break a leg on the rest of your performances, all right?" he said.

"Sure. Thanks," Connor replied.

Their lips met one last time before Kevin pulled the door open and slid inside. Connor watched as he started up the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, then he gave a little sigh when car finally disappeared from sight.

"How sweet. Saccharine, really."

Connor froze at the sound of that familiar drawl. No, it couldn't be, could it? He slowly turned around, and his jaw very nearly dropped.

"Hi Connor," Ira Gotfrey said with his trademark smirk. "Been awhile, hasn't it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one! We're down one person at work and I'm in the middle of a busy move. Plus, this chapter was crazy long and took forever to write :P Rest assured, though, I have no intention of leaving this fic abandoned, so if there's ever a delay it's safe to assume I'm working hard on the next chapter and will have it up as soon as I can. Thanks for reading!


	42. Relapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: cutting, prescription drug abuse, internal homophobia/acephobia

_**Summer Before Senior Year** _

**Chapter 42: Relapse**

It took Connor a good ten seconds of silent staring before he finally found his voice. "Ira?" he said, because it was honestly the only thing he could think of.

"Aww, struck dumb, are we?" Ira drawled. "I never had that effect on you before. You were always rather…vocal, if I remember correctly."

Connor didn't acknowledge the innuendo, still trying to process the fact that his sleazy, criminal ex-boyfriend was here of all places. He blinked, briefly wondering of it was all in his head and Ira would vanish as quickly as he'd seemed to appear. But nope, he was still there; that same dirty blond hair, that same infuriating smirk. The only noticeable differences were his muscles were a little more toned now, and his green eyes had something…well, off about them, though Connor couldn't quite place what it was.

"How…" Connor began, thoughts jumbling over one another in his brain. "How are you not in prison right now?"

Ira chuckled. "Ah yes, prison," he said, taking a few steps toward Connor, who resisted the urge to back away. "Interesting place. But it got old. Once you have the toughest guys there eating out of the palm of your hand, the novelty wears off."

"You were arrested and expelled from school," Connor insisted. Sure, he'd said he didn't want to hear about what happened to Ira, but curiosity had eventually gotten the better of him and Naba had given him the details. "You were a middle man for some drug lord or other, and you were given a sentence of a lot longer than a year. So how the hell are you standing here right now?"

"Well, Con," he said. "Turns out the more you know, the more the system's able to offer you. I'm sure you think I'm basically the king of Utah's seedy underworld, but there's people out there dealing much worse than prescriptions and pot. The police needed names and testimony, and I was more than happy to offer both."

Connor crossed his arms. "So you're out on parole."

"I'm out on parole," Ira confirmed. "And what'dya know? Picture this: here I am, driving east, taking a break at a diner in Savannah, Missouri, when I happen to stumble upon this thrilling piece of hard-hitting, small-town journalism."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an article clipped from the _St. Joseph News-Press_. Even from a distance, Connor recognized the photo the reporter had shot of him and the girl playing Cosette during dress rehearsal.

"And there you were, along with your name right there in the caption," Ira continued. "Surely that can't be _**my**_ Connor McKinley, I thought. Of course, once I realized you were basically next door, I had to stop by to say hello. And express my surprise. Obviously I always knew you were bound for a life of day jobs and low-budget regional theatre, but I didn't expect you to accept that so soon. Guess you're more sensible than I thought."

There were so many things Connor wanted to say— _I'm not your Connor McKinley_ , or _As if you're one to talk about sensibility_ , or even just a simple _Fuck off_. Instead, he simply repeated his earlier statement. "So you're out on parole."

The corners of Ira's mouth twitched slightly. "We established that, doll."

"If you're on parole, that means you can't leave the state of Utah," Connor elaborated. "They're gonna throw you back in jail the minute they catch you."

"Who says I'm gonna be caught?"

"Oh please. You're not that slick. It's only a matter of time. Hell, I could call the police right now if I wanted to."

"Ah yes, because calling the cops is a hobby of yours," Ira said dryly. "How could I forget?"

"Why are you heading east, anyway?" Connor pressed on. "Seems pretty stupid to risk your freedom just because—well, why, exactly? Utah's too dull for you?

Ira shrugged. "Is that so hard to comprehend? After all, it sounds just like me, doesn't it? If there's one thing I can't stand, it's boredom."

That was when Connor finally identified it, that tiny glimpse of a nearly unrecognizable emotion in Ira's eyes. "You're not bored," he stated. "You're scared."

Ira just snorted, but it all made sense now so Connor went on. "That testimony of yours really pissed someone off, didn't it? And now you don't know what they plan to do to you, so you're on the run. Makes sense, actually; if you evade them, you're safe, and if your parole officer finds you, then you're back in prison where, of course, you're still safe." Facing Ira dead-on, he added, "Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong."

Ira's face hardened, and for just a split second, he almost looked a little doubtful. But then the smirk returned and he stepped up even closer, until they were barely an inch apart. Connor once again resisted the urge to back away as their eyes met.

"Sure thing. You're wrong, babe," Ira breathed. With that he spun on his heel and strode away.

"Well, as thrilling as sticking around this shithole for a while longer sounds, I really do have better places to be" he said as he walked. "Sorry I couldn't catch your big second-rate regional debut. I'm sure it was thoroughly mediocre."

Connor watched him go, mind whirling. Just how much danger was Ira facing right now? He should do something, say something, call someone…

Except he really, really didn't want to. He'd washed his hands of Ira Gotfrey long ago. So he silently watched as Ira slid inside a Camry with Alaska plates encased in American University alumni frames and tried really hard not to think about that odd combination, or who that car might actually belong to. Once Ira sped away with a quick wave, his shoulders slumped and he felt himself relax.

Good riddance.

* * *

_An Hour Later_

"For the thousandth time, you guys," Kevin said as they headed out to grab some breakfast. "I said I'm sorry, okay?"

"I thought you'd been kidnapped!" Arnold shrieked, completely ignoring Kevin's comment.

"We just wish you would've left a note," Naba explained. "It was a little unnerving to wake up and find you gone without an explanation."

"I thought you'd been kidnapped!" Arnold cried yet again.

"Why would you even think that?" Kevin asked, leading the way as they walked down Frederick Avenue. "The car was missing, too. Wouldn't you just assume I'd taken the car?"

"I thought you'd been kidnapped in your own rental car!" Arnold elaborated. "This is a dangerous town, you know. The people in the room next to us said they heard someone got sliced up by a machete once!"

"Oh, come on. No one got sliced up by a machete."

"They said so!" Arnold persisted. "They really did!"

"Well I wasn't dealing with some machete-wielding killer; I was with Connor." Kevin felt his insides lurch at the thought. He'd actually kissed Connor last night; why on Earth had he _**done**_ that? _And this morning_ , he reminded himself. _Don't forget about that_. Shit. It had seemed so right at the time, when Connor was standing right there in front of him with that sweet, loving smile and those gorgeous blue eyes, but now that he'd actually had time to think it over…

"Well, next time we're in an unfamiliar place and you decide to take off in the middle of the night, please leave a note," Naba said simply, jarring him out of his thoughts.

"I will. And I'm sorry, really." Because he was. In his defense, he hadn't planned to be out all night. But how was he supposed to just leave when Connor was telling him stay in that perfect voice of—

God damn it. He shook his head and motioned for them to turn onto Woodbine.

They arrived at Le Peep quickly enough and were seated without any issue. Their server, and older woman who introduced herself as Sharlene, was pleasant enough, but Kevin could barely even give her or the menu much thought. When she returned to take their orders, Kevin stated the name of the first omelette that caught his eye.

"So Kevin," Naba said once Sharlene had bustled away. Kevin tried to clear his head to focus on her. "Are you tutoring math again next year?"

"Yeah, why?" he replied.

"Just curious. I know you are always so busy with your labs."

Kevin nodded. "Oh. Well yeah, I am. I'm actually cutting back on my Starbucks hours after the summer to do more tutoring. I'll be doing a few drop-in hours and also working as an SI Leader for College Algebra."

"What's that?" Arnold piped up.

"Supplemental Instruction. Basically, I attend the class and then lead review sessions every week." He couldn't stop himself from adding, "Being an SI Leader is kind of a big deal. And I'm ninety-nine percent sure I told you this already."

Arnold shrugged. "I probably wasn't listening," he said. "That's so cool! Which teacher is it? The one who's class you're going to."

"Chadwick."

Arnold's jaw dropped. "No way! _**I'm**_ gonna be in Chadwick's class! Oh, this is awesome!"

Kevin frowned. "I thought you took College Algebra last year."

"I failed it," Arnold said without a trace of embarrassment.

"You _**failed**_ it?!"

"Yep! But I'm totally gonna pass this semester, 'cause I can go to your SI thingies and you can teach me all the stuff!"

Kevin hoped the smile he was giving him appeared genuine enough, even though he was still preoccupied, and the thought of scrounging up a passing grade for his best friend was slightly terrifying.

Arnold and Naba began chatting about something or other then, and Kevin's mind wandered once more to Connor. What was he doing right now? Was he as conflicted as Kevin? He pulled out his phone and quickly typed out a message. _Can we just forget anything happened_?

Maybe it would be fine. Maybe Connor would totally understand.

Ten minutes later, after Sharlene had brought their food and Kevin was about to dig in, his phone buzzed with Connor's response.

 _Ok_.

Kevin winced. Nope, he was definitely pissed.

* * *

_The Following Weekend_

_We're not together_.

Connor had a strict policy of never, ever sleeping with his fellow cast and crew. Not that it was really called into question much, but still. In those rare cases where the issue arose, that was his rule. Doing so was unprofessional and could only lead to problems; in fact, it was probably one of the worse things he could do, second only to sleeping with one of his floor residents or, say, an axe murderer. There was a reason none of his lovers had been theatre majors, after all.

But Sean hadn't been cast in _Midsummer_ and thus was heading back home to Springfield tomorrow, Connor reminded himself as he nipped at the other man's bottom lip. He also made a _**very**_ attractive Enroljas, so what the hell.

 _We can't be together_.

"God, you're hot," Sean murmured. He pushed Connor back down on the bed and ran his hand along his bare chest before lowering himself to trail wet kisses along the raven tattoo on Connor's hip. Connor shivered a little at the touch, eyes shut as he lay prone on his back. Truth be told, Sean wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, and he irritated Connor more often than not. But there was a slight chance that Connor was more than a little drunk right now, so his words barely registered.

 _We can never be together_.

"You're thinking about stuff," Sean commented.

 _No shit_ , Connor wanted to reply. The same words had been stuck on repeat in his head since he'd first heard them. He wanted to think about something else—Sean's skin flush against his, the fact that he'd wrapped his first regional production mere hours ago, or hey, even _wonder what city Ira's hiding in right now_ would've sufficed. But no, the same damn phrases kept springing up, over and over again.

Then Sean's mouth dipped further south, and Connor let out a sharp gasp. Biting back a groan, he gripped the sheets tightly in one hand and reached forward with the other, sliding his fingers through Sean's hair.

This was nice, right? This was exactly what he needed; maybe he could just go numb for a while and forget…

 _Can we just forget anything happened_?

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

Kevin wanted to be anywhere but here. Before his mission, he'd loved extended family gatherings more than anything; after all, what could be better than family? Now, all he wanted to do was curl up on his bed, cuddle with Bailey and Poptart, and try to forget all his troubles. But alas, it was his grandma's birthday today, so he was stuck at his Aunt Lisa and Uncle Mark Rigsby's place (where all family gatherings were held, due to it being the biggest house in the family).

"So Kevin, dear," Aunt Lisa leaned forward, addressing him from across the patio table. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the countless young children running around like maniacs. "We haven't seen you at church in a while."

"Yes, well, I've been, uh, busy," Kevin replied as cordially as possible. Beside him, his father snorted.

"Kevin thinks he's got more important things to do on Sundays," he told his sister. "Like working at Starbucks."

Kevin just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was why he hated family gatherings. They had been bad enough once he returned from his mission, but ever since his…incident, they had been unbearable. To top it off, his dad had adopted the policy of making Kevin as uncomfortable as possible at these things, in hope of guilting him back into the church. _Not gonna happen, Dad._

"Well, I suppose a college student has to make money somehow," Aunt Lisa said delicately. "Now Kevin, are you still planning on med school?"

"No, ma'am," he replied. "I've decided I want to be an optometrist."

"Oh, an optometrist! That's wonderful. But they don't make as much money as medical doctors, do they?"

Typical. That would be the one thing she'd focus on. Truth be told, growing Kevin had always been a little jealous of his Rigsby cousins, all five of which had their own rooms. "That's true," he said. "But I think it's a better fit for me."

"Of course, of course. Where are you going to grad school? Does the U have an optometry program?"

"They don't. And I'm not sure yet." Kevin felt his stomach anxiously flip a little. "I'm taking the OAT next week. It all depends on who admits me."

"Well, where are you applying?"

"UC Berkeley, Ohio State, University of Houston, Indiana University, and New England College of Optometry," Kevin recited. "Excuse me, I need a glass of water."

He stood up and headed inside before she could say anything else, leaning against the counter. He couldn't talk about grad school, the OAT, or anything else related to that right now, especially since he'd barely been able to focus on studying for the damn thing since Missouri and since—well. Kevin felt another rush of anxiety at reminder of _**that**_ and pushed it out of his mind.

The sound of feet skidding on the tile, something banging into a cabinet, and a child's shriek of pain jarred him out of his reverie. He looked over to see his little sister slumped on the ground, clutching her knee.

"Katie!" he cried, kneeling down next to her. "You have to be more careful; this is why we tell you not to run around inside."

"It hurts," she whined, trying to hold back tears. "I hit the corner."

"Let me see." Kevin gently pried her hand away to assess the injury. It wasn't bad at all, just a small scrape. He patted her shoulder and stood up. "It'll be okay. I'll go get you a band aid and Neosporin, all right?"

Grateful for the distraction, he headed to the downstairs half bathroom, where he knew the Rigsbys kept their medical supplies. As soon as he opened up the cabinet, however, he froze.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalled Aunt Lisa mentioning, perhaps over Christmas, that his cousin Joey had been diagnosed with ADHD. But the rest of his thoughts all disappeared as he stared, mystified, at the prescription bottle right in front of him.

 _Rigsby, Joseph D,_ it read. _Amphetamine Dextroamphetamine 15 mg_. _Generic for Adderall._

It was right there. Sure, it wasn't exactly what he'd been taking before, but he couldn't focus and had one of the most important tests of his life coming up, and it was _**right there**_.

Would the Rigsbys notice if a few went missing? Did he even care either way right now?

Without giving it another thought, he popped open the bottle and shook out a few pills, almost numb as he did so. Then, he recapped it and fished out a band aid and some antibacterial ointment.

It couldn't hurt to be prepared, right? All he needed was a couple doses, just so he could get out of his head a little; quit thinking about the future and Connor and everything else and get a few decent study sessions in.

It's not like he was going to become an addict again, after all.

* * *

_That Night_

This was bad. This was really, really bad.

There was a knock on the front door that sent Bailey and Poptart into a barking frenzy, but Kevin couldn't bring himself to get up from the bathroom floor. He couldn't stop the choked sobs escaping his mouth or the tears spilling out of his eyes. There was a heavy, sick feeling holding him down—the same one that hit him full force once the Adderall high wore off, that sent him reaching for the kitchen paring knife in a state of guilt-ridden, panicked delirium. Now he was sprawled out on the tile, his stomach burning as blood seeped into his shirt and his jeans.

The knock sounded again, and after a few more seconds Kevin heard whoever it was simply turn the unlocked handle and step inside.

"Hey, lost Romney child!" he heard Brynn called out, voice muffled by the closed bathroom door. Shit, why did it have to be _**her**_? "I'm crashing here for the evening and you can't stop me. I'm sick of Arnold and Naba's goddamned date night; all those bitches who carry on about how cute they are clearly haven't heard them in bed."

Kevin didn't respond, unless clapping a hand over his mouth to dull the sound of his hiccups counted as a response.

"Okay, where the hell are you? I know you're here; your door was unlocked, after all." Kevin could tell from the sound of her voice that she had headed into his bedroom and back. Then Bailey—or Poptart, who knew—began pawing at the bathroom door, and Brynn clearly noticed.

"Oh, you're in the bathroom," she said, her footsteps coming a little closer. "Why didn't you just say so—wait, are you crying?"

Damn, she'd heard him. Kevin tried to get himself together, but it was no use. Perhaps it was due to panic, or embarrassment, or both, but he only cried harder.

"Kevin," Brynn began with a little tap on the door. "Kevin, talk to me." When she got no answer, she added, "Well I hope you locked the door if you're taking a shit, 'cause I'm coming in."

She opened the door then and fell silent and the sight before her. Kevin knew he must look pathetic and lowered his eyes in shame. When Bailey came trotting in and began sniffing his face, he leaned into her soft fur.

Her wide eyes flitted from the bloody knife on the floor to the red stains on his clothing. "Oh my God," she said, voice trembling a little. "Did you do this to yourself?"

Hand still covering his mouth, Kevin nodded.

She simply stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds. "Well, why the fuck would you do that?" she asked.

He gave a little shrug. When it became clear that answer wasn't good enough, he forced himself to speak through the hiccups stealing his breath. "I stole Adderall from my fourteen-year-old cousin."

Brynn didn't reply; she only continued to gaze at him, obviously thrown completely off guard. Poptart came bounding in after a moment, his feet scurrying dangerously close to the knife. That seemed to snap her out of it, and she quickly picked it up and tossed it in the sink.

"Come on," she said. "We're going to the hospital. Now."

"No."

"Kevin Price, I swear if you don't come with me right now I'm calling 911."

"No!" Kevin said adamantly. "I can't go to the hospital; then everyone'll find out and I'll get sent back to rehab."

"You fucking sliced up your stomach," she said in exasperation. "Hate to break it to you, but you probably _**need**_ to go back to rehab."

Her words stung nearly as bad as the physical cuts on his skin, and he flinched. "Please don't send me to the hospital," he begged. "Please, just don't, okay?"

She sighed, finally softening a little. "No promises," she said. "Let me see how bad it is."

She wet a washcloth and then knelt down next to him, dabbing up the blood. "You're lucky," she remarked. "It looked a lot worse than it actually is; the cuts are really shallow. Got any gauze and medical tape?"

Kevin gestured to the middle drawer. Patching him up was fairly quick work; in a matter of minutes he was all bandaged up with a fresh outfit, sitting on the couch feeling very, very small.

They were silent for a while, Brynn making coffee while Kevin slumped miserably in his seat with Poptart on his lap and Bailey at his side. Once Brynn brought two steaming mugs over, one with cream and one without, he took his and finally spoke.

"I can't believe I did this," he said. "I was doing really well, you know? Just a couple months ago I was telling Arnold about how it'd been a whole year since I had any Adderall. And then I blew it all in one day."

She shrugged and tucked her legs up under her on the opposite side of the couch. "It happens. They talked about this in rehab, didn't they?"

"I didn't think it would happen to me, though. I made it through the hardest point; I thought I was fine. But then the damn OAT came up, and oh my God, what if I do terrible? The test is 390 freakin' dollars; I can't just take it again. And then my stupid family was asking where I'm gonna go to school, as if I have any control over that right now, and…well…"

 _I also made out with Connor several times and kind of liked it, maybe_. "It's just stressful."

Brynn took a long, slow sip of her coffee. "I get it," she said. "The LSAT kicked my ass to China and back. But I don't see how hacking yourself up's gonna help."

"You wouldn't understand," Kevin replied dully. "I was mad at myself and kind of—um—panicked, I guess? I don't really know." He took a drink of his coffee and made a face. "You didn't put enough cream in this."

"What are you talking about? There's a shit ton in there."

"I use a whole tablespoon. You put like two drops in here."

"Well maybe I didn't want to ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee any more than I had to."

"Oh yeah?" Kevin rolled his eyes. "Well gee, sorry for wanting my coffee to be awesome and delicious."

Brynn snorted and shook her head. "Whatever, Price," she said. They drank in silence for about five minutes, before she sighed and leaned back.

"You need help," she said.

"No," he said firmly. "I am _**not**_ going back to rehab."

"So you're just gonna let yourself fall apart?" she shot back. "You have a counselor, don't you?"

"I do," he said. "Latoya."

"You need to tell her about this."

"I will." When she simply stared at him with an eyebrow raised, he defensively added, "I _**will**_ , okay?"

"Call her."

"What?"

"Call her right now, Kevin," she said firmly. "I'm sure she gave you her cell number."

"That's only for emergencies, though."

"Right. And how exactly does relapsing and then hacking yourself up in shame _**not**_ count as an emergency?"

Kevin stared glumly into his mug. He knew she was right, but the thing was, he really just wished he could put it off for as long as possible. It was bad enough that Brynn, of all people, had to find out; how exactly was he going to talk it through with someone else without feeling like he just want to curl up and die of chagrin? And good God, what exactly was he going to do when everyone else found out? Because of course the word would spread somehow; it always did. What was he gonna tell Arnold?

"She won't judge you, you know," Brynn remarked, because apparently he had been silent for a little too long. "Your counselor, I mean."

He looked over and caught a glimpse of worry in her eyes. Shit, he had somehow become pitiful enough that even Brynn DeMarco was worried about him. Fantastic. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he dug his phone out of his pocket.

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

Connor's car groaned as he pulled into the parking lot of Kevin and Arnold's complex.

"Oh shut up," he grumbled to the machine, maneuvering into a free spot. "I spent way too much on new struts and shocks; you can't have another problem for six months at least. Suck it up."

When it was clear the car wasn't going to die right then and there, he shut off the engine and stepped out. It was good to be back. Truthfully, he'd already been home for about 12 hours, but much like he had the last time he'd made the drive, he'd basically crashed the night before as soon as his head hit the pillow. As such, he'd only seen the Thomas family since returning.

Connor hadn't spoken to Kevin since the Missouri visit, but Naba had filled him in on the details. Apparently Kevin had relapsed about a week before the OAT, and after discussing it with his counselor, he'd agreed to start attending group therapy in addition to his individual appointments. Truth be told, Connor was a little afraid to know just how much of his meltdown might've been related to their particular…interaction. There had been several times he'd wanted to call or text Kevin, particularly right after Naba had told him the news. But how was he to know how Kevin would've handled that? Lord knows the last thing he needed was to snap _**again**_.

But Naba had told him Kevin was doing better now. He had taken the exam and hadn't been thrilled with his result, but that was likely due to the perfectionist in him more than anything. And now that Connor was back in town, he was going to stop by for a visit and they were both going to be civil, well-adjusted adults, damn it.

He knocked twice on the door, and on the other end he heard Bailey's deep, full barks and Poptart's high-pitched yips. When no one answered he knocked again, and when he still didn't get a response he frowned and opened up the door himself.

"Hi, guys; I'm back!" he chirped. "It's great to see you; I'm…" He trailed off when he noted that Kevin and Arnold hadn't really reacted to him at all. Instead, they were staring down at a Bankers box sitting on the kitchen floor, identical looks of fear and apprehension on their faces.

"What exactly are we doing here?" he asked. "Anything particularly special about that box?

"We're trying to make sure the bug's actually dead," Arnold explained.

Connor frowned, stepping all the way inside and shutting the door behind him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Kevin was packing up some of his old textbooks to take home, and then we saw the bug, and I screamed and told him to kill it," Arnold elaborated. "So then _**he**_ screamed and told _**me**_ to kill it, and he couldn't get the dogs to kill it. And then it moved, so Kevin threw the box at it, and now here we are."

"You threw a box full of textbooks at a bug?"

"Yes," Kevin replied, as if it was the most logical reaction in the word. "But we don't know if it's actually dead yet."

"Okay," Connor said slowly. He put his hands on his hips and glanced down at the box. "Well, you could start by looking under the box."

"That's what we're trying to do, but it's really scary," Kevin said. Beside him, Arnold nodded in agreement.

Connor snorted. It was Uganda all over again. He stepped over to the box, crouching down and lifting it up. "Yep, I'd say it's pretty dead." he said as he spotted the flattened cockroach remains. "This is heavy, by the way; how hard did you throw it? You're lucky you didn't crack the tile."

Kevin shrugged. "It was an adrenaline rush," he explained.

"Yeah, it was pretty awesome," Arnold said. "And thank God that thing is dead! No more worrying about the bug."

"Actually, if you saw one there's probably more in the building somewhere," Connor pointed out. "And by the way, you probably want to unpack and throw out this box, because if this thing was pregnant then the eggs could still hatch." When they both stared at him incredulously, he added, "My dad's an exterminator. And surprisingly, he seems to think _**I'm**_ the worst thing he's encountered."

Kevin wrinkled his nose and glanced around the apartment. "Why would you say that?" he snapped.

"Say what? That my dad's an exterminator? Because he is."

"No, that there's more around! Now we have to break the lease and move."

Connor rolled his eyes. "No you don't. Just call the landlord so they can spray."

Kevin gave him a doubtful look, but then shrugged and bent down to scoop up Poptart. Shit, how could he be freaking out over a dead bug and still somehow appear irresistible?

"I missed you," Connor murmured. Then he backtracked with, "Both of you, of course."

Kevin scratched behind Poptart's ears and looked over at Connor with a warm smile on his face.

"We missed you, too," he said, and for one short moment, everything was perfect. But it was gone too soon, because Kevin must've quickly remembered why he'd sent that stupid text before leaving St. Joseph. He shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat. "I mean, it's good to have everyone back in town, y'know?"

"Right," Connor sighed. "Anyhow, I guess I should head out. I need to see Naba and I still haven't unpacked."

"Wait, no, you can't leave!" Arnold cried. "What if there's more bugs? We need your exterminator skills!"

"I don't have any, Arnold," Connor replied. "My dad's the exterminator, not me."

"But surely he gave you his skills! Right?"

Connor raised his eyebrows. "Um, no," he said. "That's really not how it works. Look, just spray some bug barrier around the entrances and have a can of Raid on hand, okay? Or Simple Green; that's what I used when we found the laundry room spiders on campus. And the wasp nest on the second floor."

"You killed a wasp nest on your own?" Kevin asked skeptically. "I don't recall that being in the RA job description?"

Connor grinned. "Other duties as assigned, remember? It was nothing compared to the scorpions in the mission house."

Arnold nodded. "Simple Green, got it," he said, grabbing Kevin's arm. "Simple Green and bug barrier. C'mon, Kev, let's go to the store."

"Okay, okay," Kevin said, hastily lowering Poptart to the ground. "Well Connor, I'll, um, see you later I guess."

Ffor a split second, he looked like he wanted to hug Connor, but then he drew back a little and the moment passed. Connor couldn't help but deflate just a bit.

"Sure," he said, smile still intact as he followed them out. "Anytime."

* * *

_That Evening_

This was probably a mistake.

Scratch that, there was no probably about it. This was definitely a bad idea. But Kevin had been thinking about Connor non-stop since he had seen him that morning, so was it really so terrible to stop by the Thomases' place to chat with him for a while?

 _Of course not_ , he reassured himself. _Just don't, y'know, do anything stupid_.

Through the ajar guest room door, Kevin could see Connor standing by the bed holding up a newspaper, his expression tight and undecipherable.

"Knock, knock," Kevin said, tapping on the frame before stepping inside. "Toaster said you were up here, and I swear his eye actually twitched when I called him that. Mind if I drop in?"

Connor nodded once and continued to stare at the page. It was yesterday's copy of the _Salt Lake Tribune_ , Kevin noted upon closer inspection. What could possibly be in there that had him so worked up he could barely acknowledge Kevin's presence?

"Um, anything particularly eye-catching in there?" he asked, sliding his hands into his pockets. When Connor still didn't budge he prodded, "Connor? Connor, look at me."

He finally tore his eyes away and lowered the paper, facing Kevin in distress. "Ira's dead."

Kevin faltered. "I—what?"

"Ira Gotfrey. He was out on parole and was found dead in Cincinnati. Someone shot him."

"Really. Oh, well, that's, um…wow." Okay, so clearly there was someone else out there that hated that man even more than Kevin did. Hard to believe.

Connor's brow furrowed as he scrutinized Kevin's face. "Are you actually smiling right now?"

"No." Was he? Kevin quickly pulled his mouth back into check.

"A human being was killed, Kevin," Connor cried, glaring at him and tossing the paper down onto the bed. "What is _**wrong**_ with you?"

"Yeah, a shitty human being," Kevin quipped. "Forgive me for not bawling my eyes out and throwing myself at the foot of his grave. He _**ruined**_ my life, remember? Even now I still feel like I need Adderall every time I get stressed—hell, I relapsed a few weeks ago! Do you have any idea what that's like for me? So no, Connor; maybe I'm an asshole or whatever, but I really don't care that Ira's dead." He crossed his arms and looked Connor dead-on. "Why exactly do you care so much, anyway? He hurt you, too."

Connor turned away and stepped toward the window, gazing outside.

"Wait." A lurch of jealousy surged through Kevin. "Do you still have feelings for him? Are you freaking serious? Have you forgotten how badly he—"

"No, I don't have feelings for him."

"Then why are you—"

"Because it's my fault!" Connor finally snapped. He spun back around to face him, and Kevin fully recognized the turmoil and guilt in his eyes. He'd seen plenty of it in Uganda, on days when Connor was having a particularly hard time turning it off.

"There, okay? It's my fault he's dead," Connor continued. "I saw him in St. Joe; he'd broken his parole by leaving the state. I suspected he was running from a drug lord or something, and—God, all I had to do was call the cops to send him back to jail. That's literally all it would've taken, and well, I just didn't want to mess with it."

Kevin narrowed his eyes. "You saw him?" He spat. "Why?"

"Not by choice. He pulled up to my building, made fun of me for doing regional shows, and then left. But that's not the point. A person got their brains blown out because I couldn't be bothered." He let out a harsh snort. "I might as well have pulled the trigger myself."

Kevin's muscles relaxed, his anger slowly abating. "You didn't kill him, Connor," he said, stepping forward and putting his hands on Connor's arms. "The guy who shot him killed him. Honestly, I don't think I would've wanted to deal with him, either. Besides, if that drug lord wanted him dead that badly, they would've found a way whether he was in prison or not."

Connor sighed, slumping forward and resting his forehead on Kevin's shoulder. "I know," he said. "But that doesn't make it any easier."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Kevin assured him. "Why didn't you tell me you'd seen him, though?"

"When exactly was I supposed to do that? Before or after you texted me to forget anything happened?" Kevin winced at the acidity in his tone. Connor must've felt him do so, because when he spoke again his voice was much more amiable. "I didn't think you'd want to know they let him off the hook after only a year."

Fair enough. Somehow the distance between them had closed almost completely. Connor's hands strayed across his back, and Kevin felt his own follow suit. This was nice; he felt so was safe and secure right now—

"I feel like a monster," Connor muttered.

"You're not," Kevin whispered into his hair. _You're amazing. You're perfect. I love you._

"I wish you had called." Connor's lips were barely grazing the skin on his neck, and Kevin felt his stomach flutter. "When you were struggling."

"Me too."

Connor pulled back a little to search Kevin's eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked, and there was an unspoken _is this okay_ in there that Kevin definitely picked up on.

He swallowed. "Yes," he breathed. He leaned in until their mouths were a hair's width apart, waiting for Connor to close the distance.

"Connor! C'mon!" Chris's voice sounding down the hallway sent Kevin flying back about three feet. "Mom says to wash up for dinner."

They both quickly collected themselves before he poked his head in. "Wanna join us, Kevin?" he asked. "We're having tuna casserole."

"No thanks," he replied. Crap, did his voice normally squeak like that?

"Good, 'cause I wasn't actually gonna let you have any," Chris shot back. "Serves you right for calling me Toaster."

"Sounds good," he said with a smile that he hoped came off as collected and carefree. "Well, I better head out. Enjoy your meal!"

"Kevin, wait," Connor called.

"We'll talk later," he said quickly without meeting his eyes. "You've gotta eat and I've gotta, um, fix something up at home before Arnold goes on a hunger raid. See you both later."

Before Connor could say anything else, he bolted out of there as fast as he could, hands trembling and heart racing.

* * *

_The Next Day_

"There's something I have to tell you," Kevin stated.

Latoya watched him with interest. "Okay," she said.

"It's um, something I've been dealing with for a while. Remember how I said group therapy's helping? I guess it mostly is, but…uh, I haven't been telling you everything about what I've been going through."

Latoya simply continued to study him patiently, her hands folded in her lap.

Kevin took a deep breath and began. "I…" And then he had to stop, because somehow the words escaped him. "Um, I, well…" It was like he was so afraid to say it aloud that he couldn't even get it out. He looked back up at Latoya helplessly. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Take your time."

He leaned back in his seat and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. _It's okay_ , he told himself. _You can do it. You can tell her anything, remember?_

He took a long, shaky breath, determined to say it this time. "I…I, um…I'm attracted to men."

It was so surreal; even though he had basically forced the words out, he still clasped his hand over his mouth in shock the moment they escaped his lips. This was it, now that they were out, he couldn't take them back. Overwhelmed and shivering, he looked back up at Latoya.

Thankfully, she was just as calm as before. Using this as his rock, he lowered his hand and pressed on.

"I mean, maybe I am, I don't know," he said clumsily. "Not necessarily all men, not even most of them, really. And I don't know how I feel about girls, so, um, I guess I don't know how I feel about anyone, actually. I just know I have this friend and he's wonderful, and I'm not sure I want to, well, have sex with him but I can't stop thinking about him and I think maybe I'm in love. I'm in love and I can't be."

"You're afraid of your feelings," she clarified.

"Right. Because I'm not supposed to fall in love with another man. My life is already screwed up enough." Her image blurred as his eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to be in love with him, Latoya. I don't know what to do."

He had never cried in her office before. Sure, he'd come close, but he'd always manage to pull himself together. Maybe he'd have to dab away a drop or two at most, but he was always able to move on. Now, though, he clutched his hand to his mouth again, unable to stop.

"I'm not straight," he wailed. "I'm don't know what I am, but I'm not straight and never will be."

Latoya reached for the tissue box on the coffee table and scooted closer, giving him a quick, sympathetic pat on the arm. "Let it out."

Kevin nodded listlessly and then curled up sideways, head on one of the throw pillows as he cried.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading and sorry for the delay! Reviews and kudos are always appreciated!


	43. Stupid Friends in Stupid Places

_**Senior Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 43: Stupid Friends in Stupid Places**

Kevin straightened out his pencil and notebook and watched as students filed into their college algebra classroom, none of them looking particularly thrilled to be there. When Arnold came bumbling in earlier than Kevin had guessed he would arrive, Kevin squared his shoulders.

"You can't sit with me," he said adamantly as he approached.

Arnold visibly deflated. "What?" he cried. "But we're besties! And this is college; we can sit where we want."

"You still can't sit with me," Kevin insisted. "I'm the SI leader. I'm supposed to model good student behavior, and you'll just distract me."

"Well, that sounds like a whole lot of your problem and none of my problem," Arnold said, before plunking down at the desk. When Kevin glared at him, he rubbed his butt on the chair for emphasis.

"Fine," Kevin bit out. "But if you throw me off track then I'll be really mad at you." He glanced over at Arnold, noting that he wasn't carrying his backpack and had nothing in his hands. "Where's your syllabus?"

"Don't have it yet. It's only the first day, remember?"

"Chadwick sent everyone an email to print it out off the World Wide Web for extra credit. He called it just that if you can believe it, the World Wide Web. Didn't you read it?"

"He sent an email?" Arnold blinked in surprise. "But school hadn't started yet! I don't check my email until school starts."

"You barely even check it _**then**_ ," Kevin muttered. "I told you about it last night. Obviously you were too busy playing your stupid _Call of Duty_ or reading your _Song of Fire and Coconut Oil_ or whatever to listen."

Arnold snickered. "Song of what? Oh Kevin, you beautiful, naive cinnamon roll. Here, give me your syllabus."

"What? No, then I won't have a copy!"

"You don't need a copy; you're not even in the class."

"I'm still supposed to be a model student."

"Oh, whatever. Just give me the syllabus."

"No," Kevin quipped. "That's a violation of ethics."

"What's a violation of ethics?"

Kevin's eyes widened at the third voice, and he snapped his head up to see Connor sliding into the seat next to Arnold."What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Coming to class," Connor replied smoothly. "What are _**you**_ doing here? Aren't way beyond college algebra in your minor by now?"

"Kevin's the SI leader," Arnold said. "I didn't know you were in this class, too. That's awesome! But wait," he added, puzzled. "I thought you took your math already."

"Nope." Connor pulled a notebook out of his messenger bag.

"Oh, okay." Arnold frowned. "But you kept harping on Toaster Strudel about taking his math sooner rather than later."

"That's because it was a prerequisite for a few of his business classes. That doesn't apply to me."

"Yeah, but you also told me to take my hard gen eds early on to get them over with, so—"

"Yes, yes, okay," Connor cut him off, exasperated. "You're right, I'm a hypocrite who didn't follow my own advice. I hate math and put it off until my last year, and now it's gonna be that much harder because it's been six years since I've used any of this crap. There, happy?"

"Well, I wasn't gonna put it quite like that," Arnold said slowly. "Hey, do you have an extra copy of the syllabus I can have?"

"Why would he have an extra copy?" Kevin snapped. "Take responsibility for your own actions."

Connor then proceeded to pull two copies of the syllabus out of the notebook's front pocket and hand one over, which Arnold happily took. Kevin pursed his lips.

This was the worst. Having Arnold in the class was enough of a handful, but now Connor, too? He'd been avoiding him since the incident at Chris's house. Now he was supposed to concentrate on the professor and plan his review sessions and be a good student, all while Connor was right there.

Dr. Chadwick began class promptly at 10 a.m., introducing Kevin and then turning the floor over to him. Normally Kevin didn't have a problem talking in front of people, despite being slightly more on the introverted side. However, giving his short spiel on DFW rates and the benefits of attending a good study group turned out to be tougher than he thought. Because stupid Connor was sitting there in his stupid desk perusing the stupid flyer Kevin had handed out like some stupid, stupid person.

It was all very stupid. Kevin couldn't even think of a better word; that's how stupid it was.

He passed out the time surveys and then sat back down. As everyone filled them out, Arnold leaned over to whisper in Kevin's ear.

"Hey, buddy," he said. "I have a question. It's important."

Seriously? They hadn't even covered anything yet. "What?" he whispered back.

"Do you shave your junk?"

Kevin took a couple seconds to stare blankly at the whiteboard, really processing that question, before turning back to Arnold, dumbfounded.

"I don't shave mine," Arnold continued, unfazed. "But I read online that women sometimes like it when you shave. It might be a nice thing to try for Naba, but I don't know; it sounds like a lot of work. What are your thoughts?"

Kevin tried really hard to think of an appropriate response and ultimately just settled with, "Finish your survey."

"Nah, you already know what times I'm free."

"I'm not the one tabulating them."

"You never answered my question about whether you shave your junk."

"Fine. No," Kevin whispered in annoyance, face reddening. "I don't, okay? I never have. Now finish your damn survey."

As he revealed that all-too-personal information, he caught Connor's eyes flickering over in his direction. Ugh, he was wrong before. _**This**_ was officially the worst.

Arnold nodded his head thoughtfully. "Interesting. Now then, on a scale of _no way_ to _definitely_ , what's the likelihood you'll ever try shaving your junk in the future?"

"Arnold!" Kevin hissed. People near enough to hear were beginning to snicker at the entire exchange. "This is exactly what I meant about being a distraction. Now fill out that freaking survey or I swear to God I'll—"

"Is there a problem?" Dr. Chadwick said, looking over in Kevin's direction.

"No," Kevin said quickly. He plastered on a bright smile and felt very grateful the professor was a little hard of hearing. "Just helping him fill out this form."

Once everyone had completed their surveys, Dr. Chadwick dove right in. Over the course of the period, Kevin watched as Arnold lost interest and Connor's expression became more and more panicked. By the time class was over, he was staring at his syllabus with dread.

Arnold muttered something about lunch and bolted out of the classroom as quickly as he could. Kevin placed the surveys and the rest of his materials neatly in his bag and then headed out as well, only to have Connor quickly catch up to him.

"So you're the SI leader," he began. "That means you're kind like my teacher now, huh?"

"No, not really."

Connor grinned. "You sure? You know how I feel about faculty."

Kevin scowled. "I'm serious, Connor."

"So am I; I really am oddly attracted to quite a few faculty. Chadwick's kind of hot in an AARP way, don't you think?"

Kevin just shrugged, his whole body rigid. Connor looked over at him and sighed.

"Can we talk?"

"Do we have to?" Kevin asked. "I've gotta catch up to Arnold."

"That can wait." Connor gestured over to an empty classroom. He'd busted out his assertive mission leader voice, and thus Kevin couldn't help but follow him inside.

"Okay, here's the deal," Connor said, closing the door behind them. "I get it, okay? Whatever your situation is, you're clearly not comfortable with this. That's fine. I haven't told anyone what happened, and I'm not gonna push you. I don't want to do anything if it freaks you out."

Kevin nodded. "Okay," he said. "Okay, um, good. Thanks."

"Great." Connor folded his arms and looked around the room awkwardly. "Well, uh, I guess that's it, then. That's all I had to say."

"Sure." Kevin shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

This would probably be a good time for them to leave, he figured. Instead, they both looked each other up and down for a couple seconds before lunging forward and smashing their lips together. As Kevin took a couple steps back—bringing Connor with him—to lean against the wall, he was quite glad that they were away from the window and the door had automatically locked. He held Connor's waist tightly and pulled him as close as he could.

"This is a really bad idea," Connor murmured in between short kisses. "We're just gonna fall into this cycle of making out and then you pushing me away. Then we'll start to resent each other and never speak again."

Kevin just made a noncommittal noise, sliding one hand up between Connor's shoulder blades.

"I don't even like you that much," Connor added, arching his back at the touch. "I lost interest when you said you weren't my teacher."

Kevin pulled back slightly and laughed, and Connor chuckled a little as well. Then, he combed his fingers through Connor's hair, smiling down at him. God, he was wonderful, and he had the most beautiful eyes Kevin had ever seen. How were they still so alight with life, after everything he'd been through? Church therapy, his parents disowning him—

Shit, his parents. What would Kevin's parents say if they could see him right now? This had to stop.

Connor jerked back when Kevin tensed, disappointment clouding his features. "I'll spare you the trouble of running away by doing it myself," he said as he spun on his heel, a bitter edge to his voice.

"Connor," Kevin pleaded hesitantly.

"No worries; I've gotta get going anyway." Connor then hurried out, leaving Kevin feeling very cold and alone.

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

Naba frowned, tapping her fingers against the table in Shepherd Union. "Should I get iced coffee or green tea?" She asked Connor.

Connor stared down at his math homework with glazed eyes. "Sure," he mumbled.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Mm hm."

She rolled her eyes. Ever since he'd returned from Missouri, Connor had been distant. She suspected part of it had to do with Kevin (it was clear his crush had come back), but even when Kevin wasn't around, he was distracted. Any time she brought it up, he became evasive. It had only gotten worse once the semester started, and she was beginning to lose patience.

"Could you try grunting more than one word at a time?" she snapped.

He finally looked up at her and pressed his lips together, obviously irked. "What do you want me to tell you?" he said. "Are you really not capable of picking out your own damn beverage?"

"Okay, asshole," she replied coldly. "Nevermind, then."

After a few seconds Connor slumped back in his seat, a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry, okay?" he told her. "I just have a lot on my mind right now."

"You've been like this for a long time, though," Naba replied. "And you won't tell me anything about it."

"It's nothing you have to worry about."

"I hate when you do this," she said. "You start dwelling on things and then shut yourself off from people. You barely even acknowledged me when I asked what shows you plan to audition for at the Ziegfeld Theater."

"I don't know what shows I'm auditioning for yet. It's not really a priority right now."

"What are you talking about? You want to be an actor; of course it's a priority."

"No, it's really not," he stated firmly. "Want to know why? Because I _**don't**_ want to be an actor."

Naba blinked and looked at Connor in surprise. Okay, that wasn't what she expected at all.

"What?" she asked incredulously.

Connor looked almost as shocked as she that he'd actually said that aloud. Still, though, he stuck to it. "I said I don't want to be an actor."

"But you love theatre," Naba said. "If this has to do with any of the shit Ira said, or about being afraid you won't make it, then—"

"It doesn't," Connor assured her. "I think I could make it if I really wanted to—at least, I have as much of a chance as anyone else. I've been doing well enough so far, right? And yes, I do love theatre; that's the crazy part. I think I'll always want to do something with it here and there but, I don't know, I just don't want to do it full-time."

As he spoke, he picked at the corner of his notebook. "I've been feeling this way for a while now. Since January, maybe? I never said anything because I thought it might just be a slump. And then I was cast this summer, and I figured that would remind me how much I want this for my career. But it just…" he paused and then sighed. "I'm not sure how to put this. When my fellow actors and I talk about performing eight shows a week, for them it's like a dream come true. For me though, I'm not saying I _**wouldn't**_ enjoy it. It just…I don't know, I feel like something's missing."

Naba slowly nodded as she processed his words. "That's fair," she said. If he'd been feeling this way along with dealing with his Kevin infatuation that they usually didn't talk about, then no wonder he'd been acting so weird. "I wish you had told me you were struggling with this sooner, but I understand. So what career do you want instead, then?"

"That's the problem, I don't know," Connor said glumly. "I have no idea. And I know I should've mentioned this sooner instead of keeping it bottled up, but honestly it's kind of embarrassing. It's my senior year, and I have no clue what I'm doing."

"Don't worry. We will figure it out," she replied. "What other things do you enjoy?"

"Lots of stuff, I suppose. Being an RA, talking to people, reading, crafts, petting cats. These things get less marketable the further I go down the list."

"Hmm…" she furrowed her brow in thought. "What about being a teacher or a counselor? You like helping people."

He thought it over and shrugged. "I don't know."

"Social worker?" When Connor didn't look particularly enthusiastic, she added, "Lawyer?"

He looked over at her in disdain. "I am _**not**_ going to law school," he said bluntly. "It's expensive and hard."

"Okay, okay," she said. "Well, when Arnold was undecided, you told him to go to Career Services. Maybe you should do that."

"I did. They said I'm an ENFJ, which means l like working with other people and implementing positive change. Then they gave me some suggestions, several of which you mentioned already." Again, he shrugged. "They make sense I guess, and I think I want to do something in the helping field. I just don't know what. None of the suggestions really thrill me, you know?"

"It will come to you soon enough."

"Well it better come really freaking soon, then," he muttered. "What if I have to change my major? Or go to grad school? Kevin and Brynn are already working on their applications."

"It will be okay, Connor. If it takes you a little longer to graduate, then that is not a problem. That is what I'm doing, after all."

"I know, but I'd rather not have to take out more loans for additional semesters. My scholarship runs out after four years."

She cringed. "I get that," she said sympathetically. "But it will be worth it to follow your passion. And if you miss the deadline for grad school applications, then just apply for the next semester."

"I guess." He leaned forward, propping his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. "This kind of sucks, you know? Here I've been, telling Arnold to pick a major and getting onto Toaster about finishing his gen eds, and now look at me: undecided in senior year taking college algebra."

He snorted and added, "I think I'm gonna fail it, by the way. I have no clue what the professor's talking about. So then I go to the SI sessions, and Kevin's really smart and gorgeous and who knew linear equations could be so sexy?"

She giggled. "You need to get your mind out of the gutter and focus on the material."

"But he writes on the board." She waited a few seconds for him to elaborate. But nope, it appeared that was the end of that thought. She shook her head.

"You have some weird turn-ons," she remarked.

"Yeah, well, you wore the _Star Trek_ costume thing for Arnold so you have no room to talk."

"The Uhura dress? I looked fucking hot in that, too."

Connor laughed. "I'm sure you did," he said. He leaned back again, drumming his pencil against the page. "Maybe the real problem is that I don't want to do anything," he said. "I should just marry a Fortune 500 CEO and decorate mason jars."

"You would be very bored." Naba began gathering her things and stood up. "I don't think we're accomplishing much here. Do you want to come walk Sam with me?"

"Sure." Connor began packing up his stuff as well. "I could use a break."

"Great. Afterward we can study at my place, and then eat snacks and watch TV. Oh!" She clapped her hands once as they began heading toward the door. "I know what you can do when you graduate. You can be a massage therapist."

"Oh yeah?" he said dryly as he pushed the door open. "Just like my mom, huh?"

"Yes. You are already good at it. Very good."

He raised an eyebrow. "This is your way of asking if I can give you a backrub later, isn't it?"

She flashed him a mischievous grin.

* * *

"I don't think I'm gay," Kevin told Latoya.

Like he had with most topics, Kevin had quickly grown comfortable discussing this with Latoya after pushing past his initial hesitation. He was currently lounging on the couch, holding one of the throw pillows as he spoke.

"I mean, not in the same way Connor is, at least," he continued. "I'm not interested in having sex with men. Of course, I'm not all that interested in having sex with women, either. I guess I've never wanted to do it with anyone, really. I didn't give it any thought before my mission; I figured that's how it was supposed to be when you're really devout. When I met the woman I was supposed to marry, I would be sexually attracted to her and that's how I would know Heaven Father meant for us to be together forever. But I guess that's not very realistic, is it?"

He played with the fringe on the pillow as he spoke. "I don't even want to do it with Connor," he said. "I just, um, really like being around him. Talking to him, kissing him, all that relationship stuff minus the sex." He looked over at Latoya. "Is that normal? Being in love with someone without the physical part? Is that a thing?"

"It is." Latoya jotted a quick note in her pad. She took far fewer notes than Dr. Lindbergh had, usually preferring to listen. Of course, Kevin reasoned, Dr. Lindbergh had been dealing with the medical aspect of his condition as well. "What you're describing sounds like asexuality."

"Does it?" Kevin frowned. "I've never heard of that."

"Asexual people generally don't experience sexual attraction. Romantic and sexual attraction are two distinct feelings; it's not unusual to have one without the other."

"Hmm." Kevin mulled it over, gazing down that the pillow. "You know, I think Connor's the first person I've ever loved romantically. Not even my girlfriend Kim in high school—I mean, we really only dated because it was expected and people talked about how cute we looked together. And actually I didn't even love Connor right away, although I guess that pretty much applies to everyone. I don't believe in the whole 'love at first sight' thing."

He tossed the pillow aside and straightened up on the couch. "But I guess it doesn't really matter what I am," he sighed. "I can't be with Connor either way."

"The only one holding you back is yourself," Latoya commented.

"And I have a good reason," Kevin argued. "Connor's parents disowned him when he came out to them. He hasn't been home since before his mission; his sisters Audra and Jen mailed him a couple boxes with some of his favorite belongings and that was it. I think the McKinleys made decent money, because they'd bought him a brand new Chevy Malibu for his sixteenth birthday and he didn't even get to keep it because the title's in their name. Now he drives a janky Fiesta from, like, 1992 or something."

"You know how if you're an undergrad under 24 with no kids and whatnot, you have to list your parents' information on the FAFSA?" He continued. "Connor's parents wouldn't even help him out with that. They couldn't be bothered to send him a few damn numbers. Until he turned 24 this year, he always had to fill it out with the financial aid director and do some weird override thing or something. And his entire extended family just went along with it. His mom told them to block him on Facebook and they all did, just like that. His sisters kept in touch with him for a while, but he hasn't heard from them in a long time. He has no idea what's going on with either of them."

Just thinking about it all made him unbearably sad. "I can't go through that, Latoya," he said wearily. "Maybe my family wouldn't react quite that horribly, but I can't imagine they'd take it well. And as much as they drive me crazy, I love them. I really, really do. And I've already disappointed them enough. If I have to choose between them and Connor, then I'm gonna have to go with them. But it's fine, right?" he added. "I mean, I seriously doubt Connor's the only person I'll ever fall in love with. There'll be other people, and hey, maybe the next one will be a woman."

He glanced at her to find she was looking at him with a careful, indiscernible expression. "You think that's ridiculous, don't you?" he challenged.

"There's no such thing as a ridiculous feeling," she told him. "But you don't look satisfied with your decision."

"I'm not." He ran a hand through his hair and slumped back down, head on the armrest. "But I won't be satisfied either way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and reviews are always appreciated. Also, thanks for all the great comments so far!


	44. D's Don't Get Degrees

_**Senior Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 44: D's Don't Get Degrees**

So far, the fall semester had been a blur of schoolwork and application essays. Kevin decided early on that he was going to put aside all his unwanted feelings for Connor and focus entirely on his work. As he had told Latoya, there was no point in dwelling on the matter if nothing would come of it. So he resolved to do his damndest to make sure he and Connor were nothing but friendly acquaintances who acted in a perfectly professional manner.

That morning, his eyes slid open around 8:30 a.m., as one of the dogs shifted on the bed. When he registered someone stroking his side, he rolled over and smiled at Connor. "Hi," he murmured.

Needless to say, his plan had failed miserably.

Connor smiled back, trailing his hand down and linking their fingers together. "Morning," he replied. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"You too."

Arnold had gone home with Naba to Salt Lake for the break, which meant that for the past few days, Connor had practically lived at their apartment. To an onlooker, their current situation would appear far more risqué that in actually was; in reality, they hadn't done any more than kissing, cuddling, and sleeping fully clothed beside each other. Given that Connor no doubt would've been happy to go much farther, Kevin was grateful he hadn't tried to push him toward anything more.

Connor opened his mouth to say something else, but was distracted by Poptart leaping right between him and Kevin, looking awful proud of himself with his tail wagging furiously.

"Hey there, Poptart," he chuckled as he pat the dog's head. "You're a cutie. Do you always sleep in here, though? Aren't you Arnold's pup?" After a couple seconds, he added, "Actually, I guess you're not a pup anymore, are you?"

"Nope. Just a little guy," Kevin said. "And he likes it here with his mamma better. Always has." Kevin's eyes flickered between the clock and both dogs on the bed. "I'm surprised they haven't had to pee by now," he said with a frown.

"They did. I took them outside about an hour ago," Connor told him.

"Oh, thanks," Kevin remarked. He looked over at Connor dubiously and added, "An hour ago, huh? How long have you been up? You were awake when I went to bed, too; I'm starting to think you never actually sleep."

Connor shrugged. "I basically don't." He scooped up Poptart and set him back down at the foot of the bed, and then snuggled up to Kevin with his head on his chest. "I don't want to go anywhere today," he said. He ran a finger along Kevin's pajama shirt from his collarbone down to his stomach, then let his hand rest on Kevin's waist. "Can't we just stay here?"

Kevin sighed. "My extended family's dinner is tonight," he replied. "I have to make fifteen pumpkin pies." When Connor looked up at him with an eyebrow skeptically raised, he said, "What? The Price family can really pack it."

"Hm." Connor mulled it over. "What if we pretend we're sick?"

"Won't work," Kevin countered, softly rubbing his hand up and down Connor's arm. "First of all, don't you have dinner at Toaster's house? Everyone knows you never get sick so they wouldn't believe you. Secondly, my mom would just say this is a time for family, so if I'm gonna be sick I can damn well drag my ass over there and be sick at their house. Probably not those exact words, but same sentiment."

Connor let out a little resigned huff. "True. Guess we're gonna have to act all adulty and honor our commitments or whatever." He nuzzled his face into Kevin's shirt. "I'd just rather stay here."

Kevin sat up a little, pulling Connor with him, and then combed his fingers through Connor's hair. "Me too," he admitted, leaning forward to peck him on the lips.

As the kiss deepened, Connor gently pushed Kevin back down and straddled his hips. Kevin let out a muffled sound of surprise and pulled back.

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet," he said. "Doesn't it bother you to go all out like this?"

Connor laughed. "Not really," he replied before diving right back in.

"Bailey and Poptart are both _**right there**_."

"Bailey and Poptart lick their crotches in broad daylight for all the world to see. I really don't think they care."

Well. He had a point. Kevin's eyes slid shut as they kissed again, and he reached up to stroke the hair on the back of Connor's head. When they ran out of air they broke apart ever so slightly; Kevin was still catching his breath as Connor dipped toward his neck.

He groaned when Connor began sucking on one spot just beneath his jawline. "That feels incredible," he murmured. A few seconds later, he added, "You should come back again tomorrow too, okay? We can watch a movie and I'll make you lunch."

"I'd love that," Connor said in between long, wet kisses on that same spot. "But I can't. I have to work."

"Dinner, then?"

Connor pulled back and surveyed Kevin carefully, looking conflicted. Shifting back to the other side of the bed, he said, "I, uh, I have a date tomorrow evening."

Kevin faltered. "Oh," he replied slowly. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I see." Kevin looked away. "What's his name?"

"His name's Trent."

"Trent, huh? That's kind of a stupid name."

Connor sighed. "Kevin—"

"So it doesn't bother you at all that you're in my bed sucking my neck one day and then out wining and dining some other guy the next?"

Connor narrowed his eyes. "What exactly are you trying to say, Kevin?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that it's a bit slutty, is all."

The withering glare Connor gave him almost sent him cowering down under the covers. "I do _**not**_ have to justify my actions to you, Kevin," he spat. "But hey, since you brought it up, I'll be generous. You made it _**very**_ clear that we're not a couple. That choice wasn't my doing; it was all you. What exactly do you expect me to do, sit around waiting at your beck and call?"

Kevin scowled. Of course, he knew objectively that there was nothing wrong with what Connor was doing. But that didn't make it hurt any less. Connor wanted—no, he deserved—someone who could give him more than whatever this was, secretly stealing any fleeting moments alone they could get. He wanted a real, lasting relationship, and if this Trent person could give him that, then Kevin would be out of the picture in an instant, and that was too much for him to bear.

"Especially because, what we have is, it's not even…" Connor faltered just as Kevin tuned back into his rant. "It's just—look, after next semester you'll be off in California and I'll—"

"Only if I get into UC Berkeley."

"I'm sure you will. Anyway, you'll be there and I'll be, I don't know, probably still here figuring out what to do with my life. It's just not sustainable—"

"You can come with me."

Connor paused and looked at him, bewildered. "What?"

"Come to California with me." The initial suggestion had spontaneously tumbled out of his mouth with no thought behind it whatsoever, but now that Kevin really considered it, the whole idea seemed perfect. Everyone he knew who might disapprove would be several hundred miles away, and no one in the Bay Area would bat an eye at them. Maybe, just maybe, they could actually have a real shot at being together. Sure, eventually Connor would want to have sex with him and he wasn't exactly sure how to handle that, but they could cross that bridge when they came to it. Besides, the idea of sex didn't disgust him per se; it just didn't appeal to him very much.

"Come with me," he repeated, sitting up. He reached forward and once again ran a hand through Connor's hair. "You don't have to stay here; you can figure out your calling anywhere."

Connor caught Kevin's hand as he lowered it and held it pensively, chewing his bottom lip in thought. Why didn't he look happier about this? Kevin was basically giving him exactly what he wanted, wasn't he?

After several excruciating seconds, Connor finally spoke. "I can't do that, Kevin," he said sadly.

Kevin's face fell. "Why not?" He asked, hating the way his voice almost broke.

"Because what happens every time you go home over holidays? Are you gonna pretend you've been single the whole time? I know what you're thinking, and I can't be your secret boyfriend or lover or whatever. I'm not going back in the closet for you. I'm sorry hon, but I can't follow you to California. Wherever I end up, it has to be for me. I can't follow you anywhere."

Kevin stared down at the covers. It made sense, it really did. But he couldn't hide the disappointment he felt over being so close to having the best of both worlds, as selfish as the solution may have been.

"You can't be my secret lover, huh?" he bit out. "Where exactly was this attitude ten minutes ago?"

Connor sighed. "You're right," he said. "We shouldn't have let it get this far."

"Well, it's like you said, right?" Kevin snapped, pushing back the covers and climbing out of bed. "This isn't sustainable, and it needs to stop."

"Okay, but Kevin—"

"You should probably go." Kevin strode over to the closet and began digging through it. "You have your thing with the Thomases, and I've got to get ready to go home. It takes a long time to bake fifteen pies."

" _ **Kevin**_." He finally turned his head back toward Connor, taking in his dejected, concerned expression. "Can we just…can we both promise to still be civil toward each other?"

"Sure, Connor." Kevin tried really hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Of course."

* * *

_That Evening_

"Arnold," Naba said with a little sigh. "You cannot fit anything else in the dishwasher. We will have to handwash the rest."

"We can," Arnold replied, determined. He squinted down at the overloaded top rack with a bowl in hand. With absolutely nowhere else to put it, he stacked it right on top of another bowl and then turned to face Naba proudly. To say she looked less than impressed would be an understatement.

"No," she said firmly.

"But it fits!" Arnold protested. "If it fits, it sits. Like the cat meme."

"It will not get clean," she told him. "Now take it out."

"Ugh, fine." Arnold glumly pulled out the bowl and stuck it with the other remaining dishes. "You wash, I dry."

She nodded and began filling up the sink with dishwater. "That was a delicious meal," she remarked. "Your mom makes incredible mashed potatoes. Not as good as Kevin's, but still very good."

"Yeah, it was awesome," Arnold said happily. "I love Thanksgiving."

"I think it is a little indulgent," Naba countered. "But it is a good time to appreciate friends and family." Once she finished scrubbing the bowl clean and rinsing it off she handed it to Arnold, who simply stuck it on the drying rack. She scowled.

"Well, I could've done that."

"Oh." Arnold grinned smugly. Mission accomplished. "Yeah, you're right. I'll just get out of your way."

She rolled her eyes as he stepped aside and settled onto one of the barstools. "Lazy ass," she said bitterly.

"Hey, Kevin never makes me do any dishes. Be more like Kevin."

"Your dad told _**both**_ of us to do them. And Kevin is not your girlfriend."

"He just might be if you keep this up."

"Fine," she said coolly with a little smirk. "Date Kevin, then. I think you two will make a wonderful couple. Will you take his last name or will he take yours?"

"Kevin Cunningham has a beautiful ring to it," Arnold replied.

Naba shook her head and continued doing the dishes in silence. As a small frown gradually took over her features, Arnold began to get a little worried.

"Wait, are you mad at me for real?" He asked. "You don't actually want me to date Kevin, do you? Are you breaking up with me? Because I can do the dishes, I can, really—"

"It's fine, Arnold," she said quickly. "I am not mad. I've just been thinking today how much I…" she paused and sighed once more. "I miss Baba."

"Oh. Yeah, I understand. I miss him too." He thought it over and then brightened. "Hey, maybe my parents can bring him here for Christmas again. Oh, and for your graduation too! Man, he'd love that, seeing you walk across the stage and get your diploma. That'd be like a dream come true for him!"

"It would," Naba said as she continued to wash. "And that would be nice. But Arnold, I…it is not just him I miss. I am very happy to be here, do not get me wrong, but I miss my village. I have not seen them in so long, you see. It is hard sometimes, especially on days like today."

Arnold nodded and rested his chin in his hand. He definitely understood, of course; there were many times he missed Uganda as well. And for someone like Naba, who considered it home, well, it must be so much worse. He stood up and walked back toward the sink, opening his mouth to speak. He wasn't sure exactly what he would say, maybe something about being sorry he couldn't do more to help, or perhaps looking into the possibility of visiting over the summer.

Instead, what came out was, "Will you marry me?"

She abruptly dropped the Tupperware bowl in her hand, and it landed in the sink with a thunk. Eyes wide in shock, she spun around to face him, and Arnold squirmed.

"Um, I mean, not right now," he elaborated. "Maybe this summer after I graduate, or next December after you graduate, or um, five years from now or—well, whenever you want, really! And we can have the wedding in Uganda if you want, or we can have it here, or uh, anywhere is cool, really. Oh, and I don't have a ring right now because I didn't plan this, but I can totally get one for sure."

When she continued to stare blankly at him, he panicked a little and quickly added, "But don't worry, you don't have to marry me if you don't want to! No big deal, I mean, I don't want to rush you, and—oh my God, and I proposed to you while you were doing the dishes! That wasn't romantic at all. That's so dumb; oh crap, I'm doing this all wrong. Just forget about it; I don't know what I was—"

"Yes," she breathed, and Arnold immediately cut off his rambling.

"Wait, what?" He asked.

"I said yes." She was smiling now, her eyes brighter than he had ever seen. "Yes, Arnold, I—you just caught me by surprise, but I would be honored to marry you."

"Really?"

"Of course," she said with a happy little laugh. "You are the love of my life." She pulled him forward for a kiss, which he happily reciprocated.

"Wow," he said when they pulled apart. "We're getting married!"

"We're getting married," she affirmed, nuzzling their noses together.

"Remember how I said Kevin Cunningham has a nice ring to it?" Arnold said mischievously. "Turns out Nabulungi Cunningham sounds way better."

She giggled. "True, but Arnold Hatimbi sounds the best of all."

Arnold laughed and threw his arms around her in a tight hug.

* * *

_The Next Day_

As soon as Jami dropped him off, Arnold bounded up the steps to their apartment and flung open the door. "Kevin! Guess what?"

Kevin had been napping on the couch, and he jerked awake at the sound. When he saw Arnold standing there, however, he just groaned and rolled over.

"Kevin!" Arnold said again, persistent. "Get up, buddy! C'mon, it's awake time, not sleep time. Wake up!"

"Shut up and go away," Kevin grumbled. He tried to burrow his head down under the throw pillow, but Arnold merely picked it up and tossed it aside.

"Nope! Nap's over, Kev," he said cheerily, flopping down right onto Kevin's legs. "Now guess what?"

Kevin groaned again and pulled his legs out from under Arnold's behind. "I hate you."

"No you don't; you like me tons. Now guess _**what**_?!"

Kevin rubbed his eyes and then sat up, giving Arnold his trademark glare. Arnold just grinned back, undeterred. So what if he had been in the middle of a peaceful nap and was still tired? Arnold was engaged, for heaven's sake; this was big news.

In fact, maybe he should preface his announcement with just that. "I have big news," he stated.

"Is it that you got a D on last week's math test?" Kevin replied snidely.

Arnold's smile wavered. "No," he said. "Why would you assume that? You don't know that I got a D. For all you know, I got an A. Oh boy, then you'd feel real dumb, wouldn't you?"

"Chadwick posted the scores this morning, and I have administrative access to the class online," Kevin said bluntly. "You got a 67."

"Really?" Arnold sighed, only a tiny bit disappointed. After all, being engaged was way better than getting a good grade on one test. "Oh well. I tried my best; nothing else I can do. Anyway—"

"No you didn't," Kevin snapped. "You didn't try your best at all. You didn't come to the SI session last Monday."

"Yeah, but I had important things to do. This new game had just come out, and—"

"Oh yeah, that's _**really**_ important," Kevin drawled sardonically. "I had all this shit prepared, and no one showed up, not even you, and that really sucked. And now you got a D, so there. Hope you like living in mediocrity. D's don't get degrees, you know."

"Dude." Why was he so damn cranky? Was it really that big a deal that Arnold woke him up? "Not cool. I'm sorry I missed it, but that was over a week ago and I don't know what you want me to do now. And hey, Connor didn't go either so it's not just me."

"I know. He got a 64; even lower than you," Kevin muttered. "Guess he's too busy getting it on with the world to manage a decent grade. Hope he has fun living on the streets when he can't even solve for _x_."

"Wow, you really are mad, aren't you?" Arnold remarked. "Connor's got a real busy schedule; I'm sure he didn't miss your session on purpose. And just because he's been with several people doesn't make him reckless. He's one of the most responsible people ever!"

Kevin picked up the pillow and then hugged it as he mulled this over, his legs tucked up under him.

"You're right," he said wearily. "I know that. I'm just grouchy today." He nibbled his bottom lip and then added, "He's on a date right now; did you know? Some guy named Trent."

"…Oh." So _**that's**_ what this was all about. Arnold wasn't stupid; he'd definitely noticed that Kevin and Connor had grown, well, closer lately. He'd have to be blind not to spot the furtive glances, the secret smiles, or the way Kevin would lose his train of thought whenever he caught Connor eyeing him hungrily during SI sessions. Of course, Arnold had kept his mouth shut. If either one of them wanted anyone to know, they would've said something.

"Um—" he wracked his brain for something comforting and appropriate to say, but came up short. "Huh."

"Yeah. Good for him, right? Glad he's found someone special." If casually pleasant was the tone Kevin was going for, then he was failing miserably. "Who knows? Maybe they'll get married one day."

"Maybe," Arnold said. "Probably not, though. You know how it is with first dates."

Then, because he knew Kevin really needed it right now, he reached over and hugged him tightly from the side. Kevin tensed a little in surprise.

"What're you doing?" he asked, bemused.

"You're having a bad day," Arnold replied simply.

Kevin let out a little huff, but nevertheless relaxed and slumped over until his head was on Arnold's shoulder.

He would tell Kevin about the engagement soon enough, Arnold decided. Tomorrow, probably. For now, though, it wasn't the proper time or place. This was best friend time.

* * *

_That Night_

Connor returned home to the Thomases after dinner with his date and proceeded flop straight down onto his bed, gazing despondently at the ceiling.

Trent was attractive, smart, and sweet with a great sense of humor. He had graduated from Dixie State the year prior and now lived in Salt Lake City, working as a flight attendant for Delta. And the best part about it all was that he was out, stable, and really seemed to like Connor. Basically, he was everything Connor should've wanted in a man.

Except Connor really didn't want him at all.

Trent wasn't Kevin, and he would never be Kevin. And it was all so very ridiculous, because Connor had been managing his feelings just fine for so long, until that damn night last summer. And now that he knew what it was like to kiss Kevin (while _**not**_ drunk at their going away party in Uganda), to rake his fingers through that perfect hair, to wake up next to him in the morning, everyone else just seemed…lacking.

How could he have been so stupid? It would never work out between him and Kevin, but thanks to his foolish lapse in judgment, he'd also lost interest in anyone else. It would've been funny if it weren't so pathetic.

He let out a sigh and brought a hand up to his forehead, then ran it back through his hair. Here he was, pretending to have everything together in front of his classmates and residents while actually having no plan for the future and being in love with one of his closest friends, who also happened to be one of the most emotionally unavailable people he knew.

He needed a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and any comments and/or kudos are always appreciated! I don't really use Tumblr anymore (too much negativity) so feel free to comment here if there's any feedback you'd like to share.


	45. Sports Games with their Sports Teams and their Sports Points

_**Senior Year, Fall Semester** _

**Chapter 45: Sports Games with their Sports Teams and their Sports Points**

"Okay, everyone," Kevin began, writing out a problem on the whiteboard. "We can do this. Remember, we're trying to find the values of _x_ that make the equation true. These are also gonna be the _x_ -intercepts on our graph. What's the best way to solve this?"

Capping his trusty blue Expo marker, he turned around to face his SI attendees. About half of them were paying more attention to the heavy flakes of snow falling outside, and the other half, including Arnold and Connor, were simply staring at him with glazed, vacant expressions.

He waited a few more seconds and then added, "Anyone remember Dr. Chadwick explaining how to solve this?" More silence followed. "Okay then, let's back up a little. What type of equation do we have?"

Again, no response. "Anyone?" he said. "Y'all are sleepy today, aren't you? If no one volunteers, I'm gonna have to call on one of you."

That didn't deter them at all. Fine then; who was he going to pick on today? He quickly scanned the small group. The girl in the corner looked like she was about to burst into tears the moment his eyes met hers, so that was a no-go. The next four were all regulars at his sessions and fairly good at speaking up on occasion, so he'd cut them some slack. The death glare the next guy flashed sent his eyes quickly flitting over to Arnold and Connor. Well, it looked like it would be one of them.

"Arnold," he said. "Help me out, pal. What type of equation is this?"

Arnold shrugged. "A hard one?"

Kevin glanced back at the board. "Perhaps, but we're looking for the mathematical term."

"Oh. I got nothing then," Arnold replied. "I wasn't paying attention."

At least he was honest. Kevin bit back a sigh.

"Quadratic?" One of his regulars suddenly ventured, and he promptly brightened.

"Yes!" he said. "Great job, Sarah. And what formula can be used to solve any quadratic equation?"

"The quadratic formula," Sarah finished.

"Perfect." He uncapped his marker and wrote out the formula above the problem before turning back to the students. "So then, using the quadratic formula, who wants to come up here and tell us what our answer would be?"

As expected, no one volunteered. "Don't be scared; it's okay if you get it wrong," he encouraged. "I know it's snowing out, but we've gotta focus here. There's a lot to get through." Again, nothing. "No one? All right, then. Connor, you're up."

Connor started and stared blankly up at the board. "Um…" he said after a few seconds. "Seven?"

Kevin arched his eyebrows. "How'd you come up with seven?" he asked. "You didn't even work it out."

"I just really feel like it's seven."

"Well, it's not," Kevin said with forced patience, holding out the marker. "Now how about taking a shot at it for real?"

Connor stayed right where he was. "Are you sure it's not seven?" he asked, squinting at the board.

"I'm sure."

"What about seven _x_?"

"It's not seven _x_ , either. It's not even remotely close to seven _x_. C'mon, you can do it." This time, Kevin actually tossed the marker toward him.

Connor made no move to grab it, watching as it landed pathetically by his chair. "I think Sarah wants to work it out," he said.

"No, I don't," she quickly interjected.

"Sure you do." Connor twisted around in his seat to face her. "Please?"

"Fine," she huffed, before rolling her eyes and standing up.

"Thanks!" Connor called cheerily, picking up the marker and handing it over. Kevin shot him a withering glare.

The last twenty minutes of the session felt like an eternity. When it was finally over, Kevin waited until all the others had filed out before approaching Arnold and Connor.

"You guys are killing my numbers," he snapped. "You're both getting Ds in the class, and it's raising the DFW rate of my attendees."

"What? We're not _**killing**_ them," Arnold protested. "How could we? We're only two people. We don't make that big a difference."

"It's still _**somewhat**_ of a difference," Kevin countered. "As of midterms, there was a positive 0.8 letter-grade difference between my attendees' average GPA and the rest of the class. I want it to be a whole letter by finals, starting with you two. Raise your damn grades."

"Why?" Connor said, unperturbed. "We'll still get gen-ed credit with a D." Beside him, Arnold nodded.

"So? Well how's that gonna look on your transcript?" Kevin challenged.

Connor shrugged. "It can take a hit," he said.

"How do you know? You don't know what you're doing after college; what if you apply to some really selective grad school? What if you decide you want to be a doctor? You won't get into Johns Hopkins."

"Kevin," Connor began with a sigh, sliding back down into his seat. "I'm gonna do some math for you here right now, okay? I'm one hundred percent sure I don't want to go to med school. How's that sound?"

Kevin scowled. "Fine," he quipped. "Glad you're all set then, but what about _**me**_? I've been doing a really good job here, so maybe you both should try a little harder to help me out and at least raise your grades to a C. Come on, just bump it up one letter grade; I know you both can do it. That's all I'm asking."

Arnold adjusted his glasses and gazed up at the ceiling, mulling it over. "Hmm, a C, huh?" he said. "Okay, I think I can do that. I can get a C, probably. Maybe."

"Great. Thanks." Kevin looked over at Connor. "What about you?"

"I think you're really overestimating my abilities here," Connor replied. When Kevin narrowed his eyes, he sighed again and said, "Okay, okay. I'll try. Happy?"

"Awesome," Arnold chirped as he hurried out the door. "Bye guys! Time for gaming club!"

When the sound of Arnold's footsteps gradually faded. Connor looked back at Kevin. "Don't get your hopes up," he said. "There's no way I'll be able to pass the final. My grade's probably gonna go down, in fact, and then I'll be back here again next semester."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit," Kevin remarked as he began erasing everything off the board. "I feel like you know this stuff better than you think you do. You scored high enough to get into college algebra back when you took the ACT, after all. Obviously you did well at some point."

"That was years ago, and the pace was a lot slower in high school," Connor countered. He slumped down in the desk and buried his head in his arms. "How is the semester already almost over?" he muttered, his voice muffled. "I'm not ready for this. Can we just stop time for a while? Then I wouldn't have worry about math, or my post-graduation plans, or any of that crap. I could just sit around making door decs and mediating roommate conflicts for as long as I want."

He lifted his head as Kevin was putting his marker in the front pocket of his bag. "You're the only person I know who carries around their own whiteboard marker," he added absent-mindedly.

"I hate using the ones sitting here. They always run dry." Kevin averted his eyes when Connor's met his. They'd made good on their promises to distance themselves but still remain civil after their Thanksgiving spat, though the connection was still clearly palpable.

Quickly collecting himself, he slung his bag over his shoulder and gave Connor a wry smile. "Well, I hope your plan isn't to fail math over and over again so that you can avoid graduation and be an RA forever."

Connor laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, I…" he drifted off, realization slowly dawning on him. "Actually, that's not…" Suddenly his eyes widened. "Oh my God, Kevin, you're a genius."

Kevin grinned proudly. "Thanks, I know," he said. Then he realized the full extent of Connor's words, and his smile dropped. "Wait you're not considering that plan now, are you?" When Connor began packing up his things without a response, he added, "Connor. Tell me you're not _**actually**_ considering that."

"I have to go." Connor stood up and headed out the door. "I've gotta look into some things—thanks, Kev; you've been a huge help."

He rushed out the door, leaving Kevin standing there gaping in shock, at a loss for words. After a few seconds, he found his voice again.

"You better graduate, Connor!"

* * *

_Later That Afternoon_

Naba was in the middle of prepping for tomorrow's clinical when a knock sounded at the front door.

"Easy," she told Sam, who had leapt up from his spot on the couch and spun happily in a little circle. Although much less energetic than Poptart, he still got excited like any other young dog.

She stood up and strode over to the door, opening it up to reveal a beaming Connor.

"I want my boss's job," he declared in lieu of a greeting.

Naba raised an eyebrow, stepping aside to let him in. "Are you going to kill her for it?"

"Ha ha," Connor said dryly. He headed inside and dropped down next to Sam on the couch. "No, I mean, I think I figured it out, and I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner. It was something Kevin said that made me realize it—anyway, I want to do what she does; I want to be a residence hall director."

He bounced a little in his seat as he spoke. "It was right in front of me this whole time. I could run my own building, and supervise RAs and hold conduct meetings and—and then I could eventually work my way up to Director of Residence Life or hell, maybe even Dean of Students one day."

When she joined him on the couch without comment, his smile faded a little and he continued, "I mean, that's just possibility. I'm not sure I'd _**actually**_ want to be Dean of Students. Most deans have PhDs, don't they? I can't really see myself getting a PhD….uh, why aren't you saying anything? I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"You are fine," she said quickly. "I was just listening. And I love it, Connor. This idea sounds like a very good fit."

He brightened once more. "Really?"

"Of course. But I don't think you need me to tell you that. You love helping other students, and you're so enthusiastic about it. It's perfect for you."

"I'm glad you think so," he said as he pat Sam's head. "I just finished talking to my supervisor about it; she said the same thing."

"So how exactly does someone become a hall director?" Naba went on. "Will you have to change your major?"

"Actually, no. That's the best part," Connor replied. "I do have to go to grad school, though. Just when I thought I was finished, right?" He chuckled and then added, "She told me most of them have master's degrees, usually in programs like student affairs, or college personnel, or something along those lines. Her degree was in higher education administration."

"Is that something you're willing to do?"

"Getting a master's? Of course," Connor said. "I mean, I'm not thrilled about taking out more loans, but it is what it is, I guess. Besides, a lot of programs have graduate assistantships to waive some of the cost. In fact, she also said the biggest factors in getting your first reslife job is how much experience you have in the area, so I basically have to focus on the schools with GAs, anyway. Apparently I'm supposed apply to a ton of assistantships and interview for them at this placement exchange thing in Wisconsin, and then attend whatever school makes the best offer."

"That sounds complicated," Naba remarked.

"It is. I'll let you know when I figure it out, because I'm still kind of confused."

"Well, I'm confident you will succeed." Naba crossed her legs and smiled. "This is very exciting, even though it means all of my friends are applying to graduate school and leaving me."

"Not everyone. Jami and Toaster aren't," Connor pointed out. "They probably won't move too far out of the area after graduation either, so there's that. And don't forget about Arnold. Actually," he paused and cocked his head. "What _**are**_ his plans, anyway?"

"He doesn't have any," Naba said dismissively. "He says he's going to stay here with me until I graduate, and then he wants us to move wherever Kevin is and look for jobs there."

Connor snickered. "Why am I not surprised?" he said. "Doesn't your nursing certification vary by state, though?"

"Yes," she sighed. "There's an exam and some other stuff. Luckily we should know where he'll be in the spring, so I will have plenty of time to prepare."

"So you're okay with following Kevin around, then?" Connor said with a smirk.

She shrugged. "I suppose so. I am not picky about where I live, so if it makes Arnold happy then I don't mind. And being around friends is nice." she leaned back against the headrest. "I will miss you, though. We will have to visit each other as much as we can."

"Definitely." Connor's eyes strayed downward, and he suddenly did a double-take when he caught notice of her hands. "Oh my gosh! Did Arnold finally get you a ring?"

"He did," said happily, showing off the small, white gold band on her finger. "He gave it to me this morning. Isn't it beautiful? He said it looked like Galadriel's ring, and he remembered how pretty I thought that was, so he knew it would be perfect."

"It _**is**_ perfect." Connor smiled as he took her hand and examined the flowery design. "It does kinda look like Galadriel's ring."

"I know. I feel better now about trusting him to pick one out on his own. I know I told him I had full faith, but truth be told I was a little nervous."

Connor laughed, releasing her hand and slumping backward. "I still can't believe you accepted that proposal."

"Why wouldn't I? I want to marry him."

He flashed her a bemused look. "He asked you at his parents' house while you were doing the dishes, hon."

"So?" she challenged. "I do not need a big fancy proposal."

"No, but he could've at least taken you out somewhere. Oh even been _**helping**_ with the dishes, for that matter. If I were you I would've told him I wasn't accepting until he tried a little harder, and then on round two when he put some huge ordeal together, I would've said no again. Strung him along for a while to make up for my troubles."

"You are cruel," she said with a small shake of her head. "Well, don't worry. When you have a boyfriend that wants to propose to you, I will tell him to go all out. He can do something big and romantic, perhaps take you to a basketball game and get down on one knee in front of everyone."

Connor snorted. "If my boyfriend ever tried to make me watch a stupid sports game with their sports teams and their sports points, I'd break up with him right then and there." He spat out the word _sports_ each time like it was something foul.

"You are not easily satisfied when it comes to these things, aren't you?"

"No." Connor let out a sarcastic little laugh. "I have impossibly high standards, and that's why my love life is shit right now."

Naba's optimistic smile didn't waver. "You will find someone perfect for you soon enough."

"Maybe," Connor said. "Truth be told, I've kind of sworn off men at the moment."

"Does this mean you're straight now?" Naba teased. "Because a girl in one of my classes lived on your floor last year, and she thinks you are cute."

Connor grinned. "It's Lisa, isn't it?" he said knowingly. "She's adorable."

Naba giggled. They were quiet for a few seconds before she spoke again. "So you are taking a break from dating, then?"

"I guess so. For now, at least. It's been, well, kind of a hassle."

Right. _More like, Kevin and I broke off our little fling, and I don't feel like dating anyone else_. She'd have to be a complete idiot to have spent as much time as she did around them and not pick up on all of their baggage. Still though, she wasn't going to call Connor out on his evasion.

"Maybe it will be good for you," she said. "You can focus on your classes and graduation without any extra drama."

"That's what I had in mind."

The corners of her mouth quirked up a little. "How about taking a break from drinking too, while you're at it?"

He made a face. "Okay sweetie, let's not get ahead of ourselves."

She chuckled a little to hide the fact that she hadn't exactly been joking.

* * *

_One Week Later_

Arnold pulled out his favorite cup—a plastic color-changing one he'd been given at some Weber State welcome fair or another that Kevin said was tacky—and filled it to the brim with orange juice. Then he fished a granola bar out of the panty and brought his snack over to the kitchen table, where Kevin was obsessing over his email.

"Naba and I decided to get married this summer," Arnold announced. "We haven't set the exact date yet, but that's when we're doing it. You cool with that, Kev? Since, y'know, you're my best man and all."

Kevin didn't take his eyes off his computer screen. "Oh, am I?" he said coolly. "See, I didn't know that. I figured since you didn't bother with an actual proposal, you were just gonna cut corners the whole way through and not even have a best man."

"Not cool," Arnold muttered, ripping open the wrapper. "How long are you gonna keep bugging me about that?"

"For the rest of your life."

"Whatever," he said through a large bite. "She said yes, so there. So anyway, are you gonna be my best man or not? You don't have to if you don't want to; no worries."

"Don't be silly," Kevin said as he typed. "Of course I'll be your best man. So, is the wedding taking place before or after the Orlando graduation trip?"

Arnold's eyes widened. "Oh yeah, the Orlando trip!" he exclaimed. "I kinda forgot about that; I wasn't really sure if you were serious about that."

Kevin finally tore his eyes away from the screen. "Why would I _**ever**_ joke about Orlando?" he said. He actually looked a little offended, until suddenly his eyes lit up. "Oh my God; I just had the best idea. What if you got married _**in**_ Orlando? That would be, like, the greatest place to get married in the entire universe!"

Arnold took a long swig of his juice. "Nah, buddy. Save that for your own wedding," he said once he had swallowed. "Oh, but that's another thing I need to talk to you about. We're actually having two ceremonies."

Kevin frowned. "Two ceremonies, huh? Interesting. Was that Naba's stipulation for having zero real proposals?"

"Shut up." Kevin snickered as Arnold gave him a shove. "We're having the actual wedding with the papers and stuff in Salt Lake. Nothing super fancy, but you know, there'll be cake and dancing and all our friends and family. But we're also gonna go to Uganda and have a traditional ceremony there. You're invited since you're my best man, and Connor's invited since he's Naba's best man. So, um, are you coming?"

Kevin just sat there really still, staring at him, and Arnold began to get a little worried.

"Uganda, huh?" Kevin finally began uncertainly. "Gee, um, I don't know. I really want to. I mean, I miss everyone there and this is a huge deal for you. But, um, the thing is…well, I've kind of got my heart set on Orlando already and plane tickets to Uganda are really expensive so, uh…I mean, I guess we can postpone Orlando if we have to—"

"No, wait! My parents are paying," Arnold cut him off.

Kevin perked up at that. "They are?"

"Yeah!" _Probably should've mentioned that earlier_ , Arnold chastised himself. _Duh_. "See, the Uganda thing was really important to me and Naba, but my mom's scared of flying and my dad said it was rude to expect everyone to go there. That's why we're doing two ceremonies, kind of like a compromise. Also, that's why it's just you and Connor coming with us. My parents said they'd only pay for four tickets, so if anyone else wants to go they can, but they have to pay for themselves." He cleared his throat after that long-winded explanation. "So, uh, are you going?"

"Hell yeah, I'm going!" Kevin exclaimed happily. "Arnold, that's awesome."

"Yeah, completely awesome." As he thought over what Kevin had said, he gave his friend a wide, happy smile. "And hey. Thanks, buddy."

"For what?" Kevin's eyes shifted back and forth from his screen to Arnold, perplexed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh nothing," he replied coyly. "Just that, you were gonna give up Orlando for me, is all."

"I said _postpone_ ," Kevin corrected. "I would never give up Orlando for anyone. Except maybe for Bailey."

"Just Bailey? What about Poptart?"

"No, not for Poptart. He's stupid and doesn't even know how to sit."

"Oh, whatever," Arnold challenged, finishing off the granola bar. "You'd totally give up Orlando for Poptart. And for me."

Kevin grumbled something that sounded like _if you say so_ under his breath, and then turned back to his email with pursed lips.

"You think your parents can adopt me so that they'll pay for _**all**_ my travel?" he said. "As if the OAT and my application fees weren't enough, three of my five schools want me to come to campus for interviews in the next couple months."

"Really?" Arnold stood up to peer over Kevin's shoulder, bringing his juice with him. "Which ones?"

"Berkeley, Ohio State, and NECO. Houston and IU aren't doing interviews."

"Oh, well that's good then!" he took another sip. "You're still in the running for all of 'em."

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's great, really." Kevin stared at the email from Berkeley Optometry with his chin in his hand. "It's gonna be really stressful, though. That's a lot of flying and prep work right in the middle of next semester. Ugh, just kill me now; I don't know how—"

The cup in Arnold's hand tumbled down to the floor with a thunk before he even registered dropping it. Kevin started and glanced down at the orange juice spreading across the tile before turning to look up at him, blinking in confusion. Arnold was surprised to find he was actually trembling a little.

"Don't say that," he told Kevin, voice small and shaky.

Kevin's eyes crinkled a little. "Say what?" he said. "It _**is**_ stressful; I…oh. Oh, _**that**_." He sighed. "Arn, look, I didn't mean it. It was a figure of speech okay?"

The thing was, Arnold knew that. He knew it, but still he couldn't shake the horrible, sick feeling in his stomach. He stepped back and sank down into his chair.

"You can't say things like that," he insisted. "Not…not after you actually tried to do it."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," Kevin replied. "But that was over a year ago and, well, you can't spend your whole life being afraid I'm gonna kill myself."

Arnold winced at how casually the words came out of his mouth. "Why not?" he protested, because Kevin just didn't get it; Arnold had _**seen**_ him being loaded into that ambulance and he didn't want something like that to happen to any of his friends ever again—

"Well for starters, it kind of makes me feel like shit," Kevin muttered. "How am I supposed to move on when everyone's acting like I'm gonna fall apart any second?"

"Well how am I _**supposed**_ to act?" Arnold cried. "I did start to worry less, but then you relapsed and cut yourself." He shuddered a little at the memory. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Kevin."

Kevin gave him a sad little smile. "I know that," he said. "And it means a lot to me that you care. But Arnold, here's the thing: I'm never going to get better."

_Well, not with that kind of attitude you aren't_. "Don't think like that," Arnold told him. "Of course you are!"

"No, I'm not." There was nothing argumentative in his tone; it was like he was talking about something as frivolous as the weather. "I have depression and anxiety. It's something I can manage, but it's not just gonna magically disappear. It's taken me a while to accept that, but now I have. I'm gonna have to live with this, and I'm gonna have some bad days, and hell, I might even relapse again someday. But you know what? It doesn't seem hopeless anymore. Therapy and Zoloft have helped a ton. Yeah, there's bad days, but there's also days I feel completely fine. It's so much easier to manage now. So, um," he shrugged. "Can you just trust me to be okay?"

Feeling torn, Arnold studied his friend for a few seconds before reaching down to pick up his beloved cup.

"Okay," he said uncertainly. "Okay, sure. You're my best friend, Kevin, I guess I'll trust you."

"Thank you." Kevin stood up to grab some paper towels and tile cleaner. Arnold would've offered to clean up the juice himself, but Kevin would have just deemed his attempt insufficient and done it again himself anyway.

"I have no idea what I'm gonna say in these interviews," Kevin said as he began blotting up the spill. "If I start prattling on about how I want to help people, it'll just sound cliché."

"Maybe something like, _Ever since I was a small child, I've had a passion for asking people to read the letter E_ ," Arnold suggested.

Kevin laughed. "That'll get me really far," he remarked. "How about I just send you in my absence? You clearly have better ideas than I do."

"Well okay, but you'll feel real dumb when I get admitted to optometry school and you don't," he teased. "Hmm, Dr. Cunningham. I like the sound of that. Dr. Arnold Cunningham, PhD, Esquire."

"First of all, you either say _doctor_ at the beginning of your name or list your degree at the end; you don't put both unless you want to sound like a pretentious asshole." Kevin finished cleaning up all the excess juice and sprayed some cleaner on the floor. "Second, optometrists don't have PhDs, and they aren't called Esquire."

"Close enough," Arnold said, watching as Kevin wiped up the last of the cleaner and threw all the used paper towels in the trash. Truth be told, he already knew all of that. However, he also knew Kevin loved correcting people, so he figured he could indulge him every once in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and comments/kudos are always appreciated! Only a few more chapters left before Part 2 (aka State #2).


	46. Fallback to the Fallback

_**Senior Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 46: Fallback to the Fallback**

Spring break flew by way too fast this year. It always did, and now the following week was chugging along at a glacial pace. Arnold trudged up the steps to his apartment, thoroughly put off by just about everything.

"Kevin," he wined as he stepped through the front door and slumped down next to his friend and the dogs on the couch. "This _**sucks**_. School is boring, today is annoying, and Naba's trying to make me do adult things."

Kevin—who had just been sitting there not doing much of anything—made some sort of noncommittal noise in his throat and continued staring dully ahead. Unperturbed, Arnold went on.

"She told me I need to hurry up and get my permit so that I can get my driver's license. She said that we were both supposed to do that last summer and she was the only one who followed through. So then I asked what the rush was all about, and she said I would need it to get to work. _**Work**_ , Kevin!"

He threw up his hands, exasperated. "She wants me to get a job after graduation. So then I was like, _remember last time I had a job? When I worked in the bookstore freshman year? That didn't even last the whole semester_. And then she was all, _I don't care. You're not gonna be a student anymore; it's time to contribute to society_. So then I was all, _what's the point of getting one right away? We'll be moving in December; it's not like I'll be able to find a full-time job in my field for only a few months_. So then guess what she said? She was like, _whatever. We're getting married, so be a grown-ass man and push some carts at Wal-Mart or something_. She wants me to work at Wal-Mart, Kev! What am I supposed to do?"

Kevin didn't reply; in fact, he barely acknowledged that Arnold was finished speaking.

"Kevin," Arnold said again, more persistently. "What do I do?"

Kevin just sighed. "Hell if I know, Arn," he said. "Push some carts at Wal-Mart, I guess."

"Seriously? But I'm not cut out for boring work," Arnold wailed. "You know me; my brain doesn't work that way. I mean, I know I'll have to get a job eventually, but why can't I wait until we've moved? Why can't I just have a few fun months?"

"I don't know. Suck it up," Kevin replied flatly. "You can't have everything you want in life, okay?"

"Man, what bit your butt today?" Arnold grumbled. "You're supposed to be on _**my**_ side. It's in the best friend code of honor." He peered over at Kevin's face, taking in his glum expression and the way he still hadn't moved. "What's wrong?"

Kevin didn't respond right away, instead, he bit his lip for a few seconds before wrapping his arms around his legs, his chin resting on his knees.

"I heard from Berkeley today," Kevin said. His voice was tight and shaky, and Arnold knew exactly what was coming next. "I didn't get in."

"Oh," he said dumbly, at a loss for what to say to make this better. _Please don't relapse over this, please don't hurt yourself, please, please…_ "Buddy, I'm so sorry. I know how much you wanted to go there."

"Right?" Kevin replied dryly, his tone bordering on snarky. "It's kind of funny, really. When Houston and Ohio State rejected me, I didn't think much of it. Sure, it stung—a lot—but I just told myself, so what? Berkeley's where I really wanted to go, anyway, so who gives a shit about those two? But it turns out, I can't go there either. I wasn't good enough. They don't think I can be an optometrist. None of them do, apparently."

"Don't think like that," Arnold protested. "I'm sure they think you're great, it's just really competitive, right? Y'know, being doctorate programs and all. Sometimes they've gotta turn down people that are qualified and stuff. It'll work out. You still have a couple other schools you're waiting to hear back from, don't you? You'll get into one of them for sure. Maybe both of 'em!"

Kevin gave Arnold a doubtful look. "What makes you think that? Every thing I've heard so far has been a rejection," he said despondently. "Why would they be any different?"

"They will," Arnold said with conviction. "I just know they will." With a light little smile, he added, "Call it prophet intuition, if you will."

Kevin's lips quirked up ever so slightly. "If you say so." He sighed and slumped down by Bailey. "God, I really wanted to go to UC Berkeley," he said miserably. "I mean, I at least wanted a shot. Who knows, maybe I ultimately wouldn't have chosen them—it _**is**_ in California, after all. But I don't even get to make that decision now; they made it for me. Loud and clear. _Nope, Kevin, we don't want you. Take your subpar application somewhere else_."

He snorted and added, "It was my OAT scores that did it, probably. I wasn't in the right mindset, what with the whole relapse and all…or maybe it was that damn C in Org Chem II. Freaking Dr. Brenner. I knew that would get me someday, I just—"

"Woah, don't think about that, Kev," Arnold quickly cut in. "You'll never know what it was, so don't stress about it. You will get accepted to one of them, okay? And then it won't even matter what Berkeley and the others said. Just have faith."

Kevin was quiet for a long time, rubbing Bailey's belly. Finally, he mumbled, "Maybe." Then Poptart, clearly feeling left out and a little envious of Bailey, leaped right into his lap, and he huffed.

"Do something with your dumb dog," he said, picking him up and tossing him over toward Arnold.

"He's not dumb," Arnold protested. He looked down at the dog and cooed, "Don't you listen to that big old meanie. He's just jealous that you're cute and he's not."

"He _**is**_ dumb. He's the dumbest dog I've ever met. He can't do a single trick," Kevin persisted. "Oh, and for your information, I'm extremely cute. Plenty of people find me hot as hell, so there."

Arnold almost— _ **almost**_ —told him that Connor's opinion didn't count, but then thought better of it. "Whatever. Poptart's plenty smart, he just doesn't understand your conventional methods of teaching. He's a free spirit," he said. "You know what? I'm gonna teach him a trick so awesome, it'll blow all those basic ones that Bailey knows right out of the water."

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "You're gonna teach him a trick?" he asked skeptically.

"That's right. Just you wait."

"Okay," Kevin said with a bemused shrug. "I'll be waiting."

* * *

_Meanwhile…_

"Do not get me wrong, I love Arnold dearly," Naba said, readjusting on the hard, wooden chair in the RA work room. "But I just wish he'd grow up a little. Kevin does everything around their place. The cooking, cleaning, walking both dogs—I swear, the only thing he doesn't do for Arnold is wipe his ass."

Connor laughed as he pinned up a finished hall decoration to dry. His new theme was spring, which he said was a little dull but always reliable this time of year. "Are you sure he doesn't do that too?" he asked with a grin. "Have you ever actually asked Kevin if he wipes Arnold's ass?"

Naba rolled her eyes and ignored his comment. "Of course, I am not going to tell them how to manage the chore schedule. It is their apartment, and it's not my business. But Arnold needs to understand that it will not be that way in our marriage. He has to contribute as much as I do. I can't get a job right now because of my student visa, and once I get my green card my final clinicals will start and I will have no time. Especially because I will be commuting up here from Salt Lake. We have decided to stay with his parents until I graduate. No use getting another apartment for only a few months."

"Understandable."

"Right. So all I'm asking him to do is get a job. It doesn't even have to be full time; just enough so we can save up a little money for our move. Why does he have to complain about this?"

She watched Connor work as she spoke. Unlike Kevin (who kept his living quarters spotless) or Arnold (who was constantly losing things due to having no real place for them), Connor lived in a perpetual state of organized chaos. The first time she'd seen his little office at the mission hut (more of an oversized closet, really), she'd expected something cleaner, something as neatly and precisely put together as the missionary uniforms. Instead, she was greeted by a desk covered in papers, the piles spilling onto the floor. Still, he somehow always remembered exactly where he'd thrown each sheet. His craf projects were no different; though the apple tree he was designing on the large sheet of tissue paper in front of him was immaculate, he had paint splattered across his hands, arms, shirt, and even a large smear of red across his right cheek. And he hadn't even broken out the glitter yet.

"Well," Connor began after a bit. "I wouldn't worry about it. Sure, he's grumbling now, but he'll come around. I think it's coming from a place of fear; he's never had to be a working adult before. But he'll have accepted it by the time we graduate. He's always stepped up when people needed him in the past, so why would this be any different?" He squirted a dollop of green onto a paper plate. "He loves you, and he'll do what he has to in order to make it all work."

"That's true," Naba relented. "I just…I sometimes get a little paranoid, I suppose. There is a lot to consider now. I love him so much, and I want to marry him, but what if we are rushing things? What if we are too young and not ready for marriage?"

"Hon, you're 23 and he's almost 25. By non-Mormon standards I suppose it's kind of young, but you've been dating for, what, six years? I wouldn't say you're rushing into this. Don't worry; you two will make it work. You always have. Oh, guess who called today?" Before Naba could respond to this abrupt change in topic, he immediately pressed on. "Olive Garden. They asked me to pick up one of my coworker's shifts on Sunday. Guess who _**didn't**_ call? Any of the schools I interviewed with at OPE."

Naba almost rolled her eyes once more. It had been two weeks since he'd participated in the Oshkosh Placement Exchange, interviewing for graduate assistant positions in residence life at several schools across the country. Since then, not one conversation had passed without him obsessing over it.

"I mean, surely at least one of them plans to hire me, right?" He ran a hand through his hair as he dwelled on the issue, smearing a trail of green in the strands that he didn't even seem to notice. "Missouri State seemed to like me, but Louisville really didn't. I can tell. The Colorado guy seemed even more nervous than I was, but the lady at Northeastern said she liked my tie, and one of the—"

"Yes, I know, one of the people at Appalachian made a snide comment about your math GRE score being in the 18th percentile. And the others all could've gone either way." Naba finished. "You have told me this over and over again."

"Have I? Okay, but why haven't I heard from any of them?" Connor said crankily. "Could it really be possible that none of them want me? I'm a good RA, Naba. Just look at this tree." He gestured down to his creation. "And I haven't even broken out the glitter yet."

"Actually, you should probably avoid the glitter," she commented. "I think you are on the custodians' shit list."

"It's my last semester; they can deal," Connor replied. "My residents love the glitter decs. At least the girls do. The guys seem indifferent. But anyway, I'm a good RA, and I think I would make a good GA, too. So how come none of them are calling me back?"

"The people being interviewed and the ones doing the interviewing work on very different timelines," she reassured. "I am sure they are just very busy, and you are not the only one who hasn't heard yet."

"I guess," Connor said anxiously. "I want to know where the heck I'm gonna be in a few months, though. I don't think patience is one of my virtues. You should've seen how on edge I was before I got my mission assignment. Most of the other elders were disappointed when they found out they'd be headed to Uganda, but I was just like, _Great, at least now I know_."

"If it makes you feel any better, you've been much more pleasant than Brynn during this time," Naba said.

"Has she heard from any of her programs yet?"

Naba shrugged. "She's been very pissy lately, so I'm guessing not," she replied. "And Kevin has not told me anything since his interviews."

"Well, I'm not asking him," Connor said with a shake of his head. "Shit, it's only been about a week since he finally quit nagging me about getting a D in college algebra last semester." His voice lilted in a poor imitation of Kevin's. " _Arnold pulled off a C in the end, why couldn't you? The final letter-grade difference was a 0.9. I wanted an even 1, and it's your fault, Connor. Your grade pulled it down_. I was busy, okay? I had spring auditions and end-of-semester closeouts. It's not even like he got anything special for having a whole letter grade difference, anyway."

Naba giggled. "You should've known he would never let that go."

"Yeah, yeah." Connor had basically forgotten about his tree by this point. Now that she had his full attention, Naba fidgeted a little and cleared her throat.

"Can I ask you something?" she began. "About Arnold? It's been on my mind for a while."

"Of course."

"Do you think he needs counseling?"

Connor faltered, taken aback. "Um…I really don't know, dear. What makes you think that?"

"He worries about Kevin a lot."

"I think most people worry about Kevin."

"Yes, but it affects him more than usual," Naba added. "Kevin told me something, back before Christmas. He said they were talking one day, and Kevin was talking about his interviews and used an expression like _kill me now_ or _I'm gonna die_ or something similar, and Arnold panicked. See, I think Arnold gets very anxious about the whole situation. He even admitted to me once that he hates looking at Kevin's wrist. You know, where he still has the scar?"

Connor winced. "I hope he didn't tell Kevin that."

"He didn't; he would never do that. But recently I have been wondering…well, I have not told anyone this, but I've been to the campus counseling center a couple times. I have been feeling very homesick lately, you see. And the man I spoke to was very helpful, which makes me think he could help Arnold, too."

"Was it Martin?" Connor asked. "He's great."

"It was." Naba frowned. "How did you guess? Have you seen him? Not that it is any of my business—"

"No no, you're fine," Connor told her. "Yeah, I've seen him a few times. I probably should've gone earlier, but I was starting to feel overwhelmed last semester so I stopped by. I was surprised how well he handled it; I mean, I'm quite the piece of work. I basically went in there like, _my parents kicked me out, I used to dream I'd been sent to hell every night and now I'm stuck with insomnia, I drink my problems away and might have inadvertently killed my ex, and to top it off I'm in lo_ —"

He quickly cut himself off and backpedaled. "But anyhow, don't think it would hurt to bring it up with Arnold," he said. "He'd probably be open to the idea. It sounds like he's been so worried about Kevin that he hasn't even considered himself."

Naba nodded. "Okay, I will," she said. She glanced back down at his creation, raised her eyebrows, and then smirked. "You are ruining your tree."

Connor blinked and looked down to find he had absentmindedly rested his hand against the paper, leaving a splotch of green on the trunk. "Aww," he groaned. "Oh well, I'll just throw a bunch of glitter on it."

"I am telling you, the custodians hate you."

"They'll live," Connor replied flippantly. "I'll bake them cookies."

"Now you are just being a dick."

Connor let out a long, annoyed sigh. "Fine, I'll _**buy**_ them cookies. Better?"

Naba laughed. "Better," she said as she handed him the box of glitter tubes on the table.

* * *

_The Next Day_

"Give me that."

Kevin was sorting through a stack of papers the library printer had just spit out, searching for his lab report, when Brynn snatched a few sheets straight out of his hand. She flipped through the papers and then made some sort of impatient growling sound in her throat.

"Where's page 4?" she demanded.

"Hang on," Kevin glanced back down at his own stack. "Does it have your name on it?"

"They all have my last name in the top corner by the page number," she said, like she was talking to a child. "Hurry up, I don't have time for your mediocrity."

With gritted teeth, Kevin pulled out his report and then thrust the rest of the stack into her hands. "Figure it out yourself."

He strode back to his computer without another word and moved on to the next assignment. When he logged off about an hour and a half later, Brynn was nowhere in sight.

Fine by him. He collected his next report from the printer and strode outside, headed for his car. When he finally reached it in the farthest lot clear across campus, he pulled out his keys and then paused.

Wait. There was someone familiar a couple rows away, sitting on the ground. Was that Brynn? He squinted his eyes and confirmed that yes, it was. She was slumped against her red Corolla with her head in her hands. Kevin chewed his bottom lip, conflicted.

He was _**not**_ in the mood for this. He was tired and hadn't had time for lunch today, so his stomach was audibly growling. He didn't want to deal with anything else right now; he just wanted to go home, let the dogs out, grab something to eat, and take a catnap before heading back for his evening lab. Clearly some small part of him had other ideas, though, because his legs propelled him in her direction anyway.

He grew more and more apprehensive as he approached, getting a better look at her. Was she crying? Holy shit, Brynn DeMarco was _**crying**_. This was a bad idea; horrendously bad. Kevin had always been awkward with tears. Sure, crying kids were easy enough to cheer up, but adults? What could he possibly say to make them feel better?

Nevertheless, he settled down next to her, bracing himself. "Uh, what's wrong?" he asked. _How astute_ , his inner critic sneered. _Great job, Kevin. Nailed it_.

"I locked my keys in my trunk," Brynn replied, voice muffled by her hands.

"Oh." Somehow, he'd been expecting something a little more traumatic. "Um, okay. That's it?"

"Yes, that's it!" She lifted her head and glared at him, eyes red and puffy. "I opened it up to throw my books back there, and I must've dropped the keys, too. Then I closed it without realizing, and I hadn't unlocked the rest of the car yet. Now I've gotta call roadside assistance and tell them I locked my fucking keys in my fucking trunk like a fucking dumbass."

"Well that's not the only key you own, right?" he asked, deeply uncomfortable. "Don't you have a valet one? Look, it'll be fine. It's really not worth crying over."

"The other one's at home." She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "And don't lecture me on what's worth crying over, asshole."

Kevin winced. "Okay, okay. Look, why don't I just drive you back to the apartments and you can get your other key? Then we can come back for your car. How's that sound?"

"That won't work," she said impatiently, and Kevin was getting really tired of her condescension. "Jami's doing her student teaching and Naba's in clinicals. They won't be there to let me in."

"Doesn't matter. Arnold's got a copy of Naba's key that he keeps it under his pillow." With a shrug, he added, "It's really weird."

Brynn sighed and leaned back against the car, arms crossed. "Great," she huffed. "So now I get to ride with you, while you drive like a grandpa and slow down for every leaf that might flutter your way. How thrilling."

Kevin scowled. "What the hell is your problem?" He stood up, dusting off his pants. "Fine, you know what? Forget it. Waste one of your AAA redemptions; I really don't care."

He had only walked a couple of steps before she called, "Wait." He stopped, and then turned around to find her slowly standing up. She stared back at him, and Kevin could tell that she was trying very hard to say something.

After a hard swallow, she finally bit out, "I'm sorry, okay?"

Huh. he never would've expected those words to come out of her mouth. "Fine," he said shortly, starting off again and motioning for her to follow.

She didn't say another word until long after they'd pulled out of the parking lot. Once she did speak, her voice was small and miserable. "I didn't get into Stanford."

"Oh." Kevin understood now why she was so worked up. He knew the feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy that came with rejection all too well, of course. "I'm sorry. Well, I guess there's always Georgetown."

"No, there isn't always Georgetown." Her tone was stronger now, more bitter than sad. "Because I didn't get in there, either. Or Harvard, or Yale, or Penn, or Columbia, or GW. I didn't even get into GW, Kevin! I've been getting turned down left and right for weeks, and I haven't told anyone. I was so set on those damn law schools, and I couldn't get into a single one. All I've got are a couple fallbacks." She snorted and then said, "No, scratch that. GW was my fallback, so all I've got are a couple fallbacks to my fallback. How pathetic is that?"

"At least you have those," Kevin said dully as he made a left. "I haven't gotten in anywhere."

She twisted around to look at him, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "Really? Nowhere?"

"Not so far. Berkeley told me no yesterday. I still have two I haven't heard from." He smiled wryly. "I'm sure I'll be getting their rejections soon enough."

She turned back toward the window, and he couldn't see her expression. "I used to dream of getting into grad school before you," she said. Her voice had regained that caustic edge from before. "But frankly, this is all a bunch of bullshit. We've worked so fucking hard; why the hell don't these places want us?"

"I don't know," Kevin replied with a sigh. "Maybe it was the applicant pool, or whoever read our applications. I've been wondering that myself, but we're never gonna get a definitive answer. We didn't make the cut, and that's all there is to it."

"We never should've got our hopes up," Brynn said flatly.

Neither of them spoke again for the remainder of the ride. Even when Kevin pulled into the parking lot and then killed the engine, they remained silent, with neither one making any move to get out.

After about a minute of this, Kevin twisted his head and looked Brynn up and down. She was curled up in the seat, looking even tinier than usual. It didn't suit her at all.

"You know what?" he finally said, his voice firm and insistent. "Fuck those schools."

Her only response was to eye him doubtfully.

"I mean it," he continued. "You can't change their minds, so who cares what they think? You don't need them. You're gonna go to one of your safety schools, and then you're gonna become the most badass hospital lawyer in America. Nothing's ever stopped you in the past and it won't now."

Brynn rolled her eyes, but Kevin saw her lips quirk up the tiniest bit. After a few seconds of silence, she asked, "You really think that?"

"Of course I do," he replied. "Why wouldn't I? You're a shitty person, but I sure as hell wouldn't want to be pitted against you in a courtroom."

She let out a sharp little laugh. "That's the best compliment I've ever been given," she said, before sighing and running a hand through her thick dark hair. "They won't be rejections."

"What?"

"Those two programs you're waiting on. At least one of them is gonna take you, I can tell."

Kevin shrugged. "Maybe. We'll see."

"I'm serious. You've got a lot of good credentials; one of them's bound to want you. There's no way someone like you wouldn't get into a single program."

Kevin smiled. "Let's hope so," he said. Then that heavy silence resumed, and a moment later he added. "This is weird, isn't it? Us being nice to each other for this long. It's unnatural."

"Right?" She grabbed her purse, unbuckled her seatbelt, and then opened up the passenger door. "Now hurry the fuck up so I can get my keys. I haven't got all day, you know."

Kevin snorted and followed suit.

* * *

_Three Days Later_

Kevin came home to find two large envelopes, both addressed to him, sitting in the mailbox. His heart raced upon seeing the logos of Indiana University and New England College of Optometry emblazoned on each, and he ripped them both open with shaky hands and right then and there. After quickly scanning each letter, he broke into a grin and raced toward his apartment.

"Arnold!" he called as he burst through the door, causing his roommate to almost fall off the couch in shock. "I got into NECO and IU."

Arnold blinked at him in confusion. "You did what, now?"

"Those last two schools I applied to," he clarified impatiently. "I got in!"

"Oh!" Arnold said, eyes widening in comprehension. "Both of them? Kevin, that's awesome!"

"I know." Kevin couldn't keep the smile off his face. "I can't believe I did it, Arnold. I'm going to optometry school!"

"Woo hoo!" Arnold leapt off the couch, doing a little jig before throwing his arms tight around Kevin. "I told you this would happen, buddy. Prophet intuition! So which one are you going to?"

"I have no idea; I'll figure it later," Kevin replied. By now both dogs were staring up at them with wagging tails, trying to figure out what all the commotion was about. Kevin extracted himself from Arnold's grasp and then knelt down next to Bailey, stroking her head. "Bailey puppy, did you hear that? Your dog daddy's gonna become an eye doctor," he said. "We're gonna move to Boston, Bailey; or Indiana! Isn't it awesome?!"

"Don't forget me and Poptart," Arnold said. "We're moving, too!"

"That's right." Kevin turned his attention to the bouncy little dog. "What d'you think of that, Mr. Poptart? Wanna join your mommy and me in December?"

Poptart's response was to snatch up his closest squeaky toy, making an obnoxious racket as he brought it over for Kevin to throw. Kevin rolled his eyes before taking it and launching it across the room.

_Everything's gonna be fine_ , he told himself, as he surveyed his dogs and his best friend, who was still doing some silly little celebratory dance. _It's gonna be great, actually_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one. Thanks for reading, and I appreciate your thoughts!


	47. Kentucky Fried Confessions

_**Senior Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 47: Kentucky Fried Confessions**

"Pick a different school."

" _ **You**_ pick a different school."

"No! That was _**my**_ school. You can't go to my school."

Arnold stood by the table in the union with a tray of food in his hands, eyes darting back and forth between Kevin and Brynn, thoroughly confused. He settled down in the empty chair across from Naba and began unwrapping his sub. "What's going on?" he asked her.

Naba rolled her eyes. "Apparently Indiana University was one of the law schools Brynn applied to, and she accepted a scholarship there," she explained over their incessant arguing. "Kevin is mad because he says he already called dibs. As if someone can claim dibs to an entire university."

"Oh." He took a large bite, chewed, and swallowed. "Wait, so he's going to IU? I thought he was still deciding. He didn't tell me he actually made a decision!"

"He hasn't," she clarified. "He says he's claimed dibs on both of his colleges, and that Brynn never should've applied there to begin with."

She crumbled up the trash from her own lunch and then finally turned to Kevin and Brynn—who were still going back and forth with the same tired phrases—with a scowl. "Shut up, you two," she snapped. "Who cares if both of you go to the same school? You will be in completely different departments."

"That's not good enough," Kevin replied, gripping his coffee cup in his hands. "I don't even want to be in the same _**state**_ as her. I'm tired of sharing my state."

"Then go to NECO," Brynn quipped.

"No. I don't want to go to NECO because you told me to. I shouldn't have to make my decision because you basically took one of my choices away. Go to one of your other schools, so I can make a proper, objective decision."

"I don't want to go to one of my other schools," Brynn shot back. "IU gave me the best offer, so I'm going there and you're just gonna have to deal with it. Now pull the stick out of your ass, accept NECO's offer, and start looking for an apartment in Boston."

"How the hell am I gonna be able to afford an apartment in Boston?" Kevin spat. "What do you think I am, made of money? I can barely even afford my own apartment in Bloomington."

"Oh, you'll figure it out," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm sure when you go to Disney World this summer you can find a couple of like-minded grown-ass men wearing Cinderella dresses and Mickey Mouse ears to share your humble abode. You can all watch _Pocahontas_ together and talk about how your balls haven't dropped yet."

Kevin gave her a fierce glare. "Yeah, well, you're ugly," he snapped back lamely.

"Hey now, that hurt a lot," Brynn deadpanned.

"Shut up. I'm getting sick of you acting like I'm some weird creature no one wants to be around, because unlike you I'm actually very well-liked. I was prom king in high school, did I ever tell you that?"

"About two hundred times now." Brynn stabbed at the remainder of her salad with a fork.

"Well, I was. Were you prom queen, Brynn? I bet you were just some bitchy wannabe-popular cheerleader everyone hated."

Her forehead creased in irritation. "I wasn't a cheerleader," she snapped. "You don't know a goddamn thing about my life."

"I was a cheerleader!" Arnold suddenly chimed in to ease the tension. When everyone looked over at him with incredulity, he relented. "Actually, that's not true; I made it up. But I did try out once! My dad told me to do a sport, so I picked cheerleading 'cause they get to yell a lot, right? Turns out that wasn't really what my dad was going for, but anyway, I didn't last long at tryouts. The coach asked if I could do a split, so I panicked and ran away."

Arnold knew he was rambling now, but everyone was mad and he just wanted the fighting to stop, so he plowed on. "Connor can do a split, did you all know that? I bet he would've made a good cheerleader, what with all his dance and theatre and stuff. He's super flexible!"

"We know. And if the threesome he and I had last Halloween is anything to go by, then he definitely puts it to use," Brynn said, and Arnold found himself mystified and frankly a little impressed by how casually she could bring that up. He notice Kevin squirm a little in his seat, and it occurred to him that perhaps this might not have been the best diversion.

Alas, he was actually somewhat grateful when Brynn reverted back to the original topic. "But anyway, Kevin, just go to Boston," she said. "You'll be fine."

Kevin snapped his attention back to her and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You don't know that. You're just saying that," he challenged. "Would I _**really**_ be fine in Boston? Sure, they have nice parks and lobster rolls, which is pretty great. But they've also got a bunch of snooty old-money people. Not to mention that when I went there for my interview, I was sitting on the train and this announcement came on saying, _The next stop is Boylston_ ," He threw his hands up in the air. "Who the hell wants to live somewhere where the train says that the next stop is freaking _**Boylston**_?"

"If you have concerns about Boston, then go to IU," Naba said with forced patience. "Nothing is actually stopping you."

Kevin took a long sip of his coffee. "Well I don't know if I want to go to IU, either," he said. "Their mascot is the Hoosiers, and what the fuck is a Hoosier? These are all things I had to consider, and now it's hard because she ruined it." He gave a pointed scowl in Brynn's direction.

"You are overreacting," Naba told him. "I doubt you two would even see each each other. It is a very large school, is it not?"

"Just because we wouldn't have class in the same building doesn't mean we'll never see each other," Kevin said. "What about the union and the libraries? Besides, the law school and the optometry school are in the same corner of campus."

"Yeah, and I don't want to have to share my corner with him," Brynn added. "He'll steal the last parking spot like the basic bitch he is."

"It's not your corner," Kevin sneered. "It's my corner."

"Please. Maurer Law's a hell of a lot more known than the optometry school. Your building looks like they forgot about it in the master plan and had to stick it in the last spot available." She picked up her tray and stood. "I'm gonna head out."

"Not if I head out first," Kevin snapped. They both rushed toward the trash receptacles, Kevin narrowly beating Brynn, dumped their garbage, and then left the food court in opposite directions.

"Well," Arnold began awkwardly. "That was, um, interesting. So, how's your day been?"

"Fine," she replied. "What about you?"

He swallowed the last bite of his sub. "Good," he said.

She was looking at him like she wanted to say something else, and he fidgeted in his seat. Oh no, he knew what was coming. Maybe she wouldn't say it; maybe she was just thinking about it but would ultimately decide not to bring it up.

"Have you made your counseling appointment yet?" she asked.

Crap. She said it. "Uh…not yet," he mumbled.

She sighed. "Arnold…"

"I will!" he insisted. "I will, soon. I just haven't done it yet, okay? I've got a story due in two days so I've been, y'know, busy and stuff."

She had suggested a while back that he speak with a campus counselor to help him manage his stress over Kevin's issues. He'd said he would, of course, but his stomach twisted at the idea. He didn't want to talk about Kevin's problems. Talking about them meant that he couldn't pretend they didn't exist.

Naba was looking at him now with worry lines and pursed lips.

"How soon is soon?" she asked, and he sighed.

"I don't know, babe," he said. "As soon as I can, okay?"

"You do not have to," she told him. "Not if you really don't want to. I just think it would not hurt to try a session. It could help more than you might think."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "I'll give it a shot, just…don't rush me, okay?"

"Okay." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then stood up. "I have to go to class now. We will talk later, yes?"

Arnold nodded. He sat there sipping his juice once she had gathered up her trash and took her leave, pushing the conversation out of his mind for now.

* * *

_That Afternoon_

Seething through his afternoon classes and then storming off to Connor's room as soon as he was free probably hadn't been Kevin's greatest idea. Sure, he'd wanted someone who would listen to him rant about Brynn and validate his feelings, but maybe it was working a little _**too**_ well. Should he really be here right now, lying on his stomach across the bed while Connor rubbed his back in soothing strokes? Of course, he didn't want to leave, either. He sighed, trying to focus on the calming ministrations of Connor's hands.

"IU was one of my schools. She's known that since forever. Why the hell did she have to apply to one of _**my**_ schools?" he complained. "There aren't that many optometry programs, you know. But law schools are practically everywhere; it's not like she was limited on choices."

"Isn't she doing a dual degree in public health?" Connor slipped his hands up into Kevin's hair, fingers massaging his head. "That narrows it down a little, right? Also, she filled out her applications a long time ago; I doubt she memorized all of your choices."

Kevin shrugged. "Well, she should have," he said petulantly. "That feels divine, by the way; you missed your calling as a massage therapist."

"If you say so," Connor said as he continued gently kneading his scalp. "Look hon, you're being kinda silly about this whole thing. You can't make your decision based on where Brynn is going, and you can't tell her where to go, either. Don't worry about her. Which school were you leaning toward before you found about about this?"

"I don't know. I mean, NECO's better ranked, but I'm not exactly thrilled with Boston."

"Location's important. If you don't like the city, you won't do well there." Connor lowered his hands to work the muscles in Kevin's neck and shoulders. "Geez, you're like a giant ball of tension."

"Always have been." It didn't help that Connor's fingers against the fabric of his shirt, occasionally grazing his skin, felt absolutely amazing. That in and of itself was quite nerve wracking. "Anyway, Boston may not be ideal, but it's not exactly always been my dream to live in Bloomington, either. IU's campus is gorgeous, though. NECO doesn't really have a campus; it's basically a random building on Beacon Street."

"A pretty campus, huh? That's a plus. What good is college if it doesn't feel like you're actually _**in**_ college?"

Connor moved down once more to his back, and Kevin's eyes slid shut. "I guess," he replied. "I mean, it is a nice enough building, though. But IU's tuition is cheaper, and the person who would be my advisor seems really great, at least on the phone—"

"That's awesome. Program fit's basically the most important thing here, right?"

Kevin reopened his eyes and furrowed his brow. "You know, all of your comments are starting to sound a little biased."

"Are they?" Connor chirped innocently. "I really just want you to make the best decision for yourself."

"Uh huh." Kevin smirked and rolled over. Then he sat up, facing Connor head-on. "Why do you want me to go to IU, Connor?"

"Well, it seems like that's the one you were leaning toward from the beginning." Connor shifted, sitting cross-legged on the bed and trying really hard to hide a grin. "Plus, I did just accept a housing assistantship there."

Kevin blinked. "You did what, now?"

"I was offered a GA position as an assistant hall director." Connor had dropped his straight-faced front and was practically beaming. "Which I took, of course. A lot of people don't realize this, but IU has one of the best student affairs programs in the country. This guy who wrote a bunch of textbooks used to teach there, and—"

"Connor!" Kevin silenced him with a tight, spur of the moment hug. "Oh my God, that's incredible. That's perfect for you!"

"I know, right? It's like a dream come true; I'll be supervising my own team of RAs."

"You're gonna be amazing." Kevin forced himself to pull away, because he was really tempted to inhale Connor's scent on his neck and that was _**not**_ an appropriate reaction to a friendly, non-romantic hug at all. "You'll be the best assistant hall director in America."

Connor blushed and looked away. "I don't know about that," he said. "So anyway, I was thinking that, you know, if I'm gonna be in Indiana, then maybe, well, you could be there, too. And then Arnold and Naba can move there, and—"

"But _**Brynn**_ will be there," Kevin cut him off.

"Oh, come on now," Connor said impatiently. "Would that really be so bad?"

"Yes." Connor raised an eyebrow, and Kevin stubbornly met his gaze for a few seconds before relenting. "No," he sighed. Of course he wanted to go to IU. He liked the school, and he liked the program, and with Connor being there…well, that just made it better.

A lot better actually. Like, that may have been the best thing he'd heard all day. No, all week, or all month, or all—

"We're gonna be together," he found himself saying. "Like, in the same place. We're not gonna be a thousand miles apart. It actually worked out that we're gonna be in the same town for—how long is your program? Two years?"

"That's right," Connor replied.

"Huh." Kevin gazed into his bright, happy eyes. "Wow."

Kevin couldn't say exactly what caused it—possibly the intimacy they were experiencing earlier combined with the giddiness they both felt now—and he wasn't really sure who started it, all he knew was that suddenly they were both leaning toward each other with their lips pressed in a chaste, gentle kiss, and Kevin really wanted more.

 _No. Wait. No, you don't_. That little voice was screaming in Kevin's head as he wrapped his arms around Connor's waist, mouth moving against his. _Don't do this. Stop it; stop right now before—_

"Didn't we decide this was a bad idea?" he murmured against Connor's lips.

"Mmhm." Connor stroked Kevin's cheek and gripped Kevin's shirt near his shoulder blades.

"But we're doing it anyway, right?"

"Mmhm."

"Good." Kevin's eyes drifted closed as Connor lowered his head and began sucking just below Kevin's jawline. "You really like my neck, don't you?" he added breathlessly, tilting his head back. "You always seem to go straight for it."

"Mmhm."

Kevin was about to tease him on his apparent lack of vocabulary, but then Connor's tongue flickered just right against his skin and the words escaped him. He had only just began to relax in Connor's arms when Connor's hands slipped under his shirt, and his eyes flew open in shock. Connor must have felt him tense, because he quickly pulled his hands back above the fabric.

"No," Kevin said quickly, voice hesitant. "You're fine. I mean—you can, if you want. Just don't, um…"

He didn't know why it was so hard for him to say _don't take my pants off_ , but somehow Connor seemed to get the message.

"You sure you're okay with this?" he asked, and Kevin nodded.

Connor carefully reached back toward the rim of his polo, slowly lifting it up. Kevin lifted his arms as he pulled it over his head, but then he felt his pulse quicken as Connor's eyes flickered over his figure. He probably shouldn't have felt as vulnerable as he did, but this whole thing they were doing was already bad enough, and nobody aside from a few family members had ever seen him with his shirt off. Okay, maybe Arnold had on occasion, for a few seconds while he was changing clothes, but that didn't count. Hell, he didn't even swim with his shirt off. Not to mention he'd gained a bit of weight since his mission, and shit, he really should've started doing some pushups or going to the gym or—

"You're beautiful," Connor murmured as he tossed the shirt aside. His fingers flitted along Kevin's chest for a few seconds before he leaned forward and kissed his lips once more. Kevin relaxed, simply reveling in the feeling of Connor's mouth against his own and his hands on his bare skin.

He settled back onto the bed, and for several minutes they remained curled up in a tangle of hands, limbs, lips, and tongues. Kevin wasn't sure how much time had passed—the whole concept of time seemed irrelevant, really—before the sharp, blaring ringtone of Connor's duty phone jarred them back to the present.

Connor quickly pulled back. "Damn," he muttered, standing up and heading toward the desk.

"I forgot how anxiety-inducing that thing is," Kevin remarked.

"It's not so bad." Connor grabbed the old flip-phone and opened it up. "RA on duty, this is Connor," he chirped.

Kevin's heart sank as he slipped on his shirt. Now that they'd been so abruptly pulled back to reality, the full extent of the situation settled on him like a dark, heavy raincloud. Nothing had changed. Kevin still had no desire to come out to anyone, and apparently he wasn't over Connor either.

"Uh huh…yeah…be right there. Bye," Connor was saying. He hung up the phone and then turned to Kevin. "Someone smells cigarette smoke in a room on the third floor. Lucky me, right?"

"Fun," Kevin said dryly, standing up. "I'm gonna go ahead and take off, okay?"

"Sure." Connor grabbed his keys and clipboard, and then they hovered in front of each other awkwardly, neither one certain what the appropriate move should be. Kevin finally reached forward to give him a clap on the shoulder right as Connor went in for a hug, which resulted in some sort of stilted, blundering bro-hug thing.

"Um, okay, well." Connor chuckled as he pulled back, sheepishly running a hand through his hair. "Anyway, see ya."

"Right, you too." Chastising himself, Kevin quickly ducked out of the room before things could get any weirder than they already had.

* * *

Arnold had intended to work on the rough draft for his story. He'd turned on some music for inspiration and then settled down in the living room with pen and paper in hand, ready to make an outline because his professor had suggested he try one. That was as far as he'd gotten before a particularly catchy song came on, and before he knew it he was in the middle of an impromptu solo dance party, with Bailey as his audience and Poptart hopping around him curiously.

A few songs had past, Arnold singing out loud and proud, when Kevin stepped inside and paused in the doorway.

"What're you doing?" he called.

"Dancing," Arnold replied without missing a beat. "Getting our wiggle on! _I don't really need to look very much further; I don't want to have to go here you don't follow…_ "

Arnold's singling died down as Kevin turned the radio volume to a more reasonable level, though he still danced away. "Kind of a weird song to have a dance party to, don'tcha think?" Kevin asked, settling down next to Bailey on the couch.

"Nope. Any song can be a dance party song. Where've you been, by the way?"

"Talking to Connor."

"Cool beans. Oh! Check it out!" He stopped then and gestured down to Poptart, beaming. "I taught him a trick."

Kevin arched his eyebrows in doubt. "Did you, now?"

"Yep! Just like I said I would. We've been working on it for days now. See, watch this. Poptart!" he called, and Poptart looked over at him, intrigued. Arnold then proceeded to shake his behind back and forth, saying "wiggle, wiggle, wiggle" as he did so. On cue, Poptart began wagging his own butt.

"See?" Arnold said, looking proudly back at Kevin. "He did it!"

Kevin had his hand clapped over his mouth, grinning behind his fingers. "You taught him that?"

"I sure did."

"That is so cute!" Kevin practically squealed. "I love it. Make him do it again."

"Again? Okay. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle." He moved his butt, and once again Poptart followed suit.

"Aww," Kevin cooed. "That's seriously the cutest thing I've ever seen. We have to show this to everyone."

"Heck yeah we do! Here, you wanna try? Let's see if he does it for you! Oh, but you have to say wiggle and shake your booty; he won't do it if you only do one. Here, try it."

"Me? No way, I'll look stupid. Now come on," Kevin bounced in his seat a little. "Do it again."

"Suit yourself. Okay, Poptart, wiggle, wi—" He cut himself off, blinking as he something on Kevin's neck caught his attention. "Woah, bestie, did you get stung by a bee or something?"

He stepped forward to get a better look, and Kevin frowned. "What? No, why?"

"Well, you've got this spot on your…" Arnold drifted off as Kevin's eyes widened in realization, and he slapped a hand over that side of his neck. Arnold squinted in confusion. Why was he acting so freaked out about…

Oh. _**Oh**_. Well, that settled it. Kevin definitely hadn't been stung by a bee.

He probably should've helped his red-faced, low-key panicking friend out right now, but instead he remained silent, curious to see how Kevin would dig himself out of this.

"Oh, well, uh, this thing?" Kevin stammered. "Um, I guess—well, I don't um, really know how it got there. I guess maybe I did get stung, or I don't know, bit by something. I, uh, didn't notice it."

Arnold took a seat and waited for him to continue, but apparently he planned to just leave it at that. _Really?_ he thought, annoyed. _Does he really think I'm gonna buy that? Does he think I'm stupid?_ It was one thing for Kevin to be in the closet, but to just outright lie to his best friend's face, well…

"Huh," Arnold said coolly. He knew it was cruel, but he couldn't help making Kevin squirm a little. "It looks pretty bad for a bee sting. You might've had some sort of allergic reaction; maybe you should see a doctor—"

"No," Kevin said quickly. "No, I think it'll be fine."

"Right," Arnold said flatly. "You went to Connor's, got stung by a bug, had some sort of reaction, but didn't notice it. And you don't need a doctor. Makes sense."

Kevin visibly tensed, his hand still glued to his neck. "What's your point, Arnold?" he snapped with a defensive glare.

 _That Connor obviously gave you a hickey, and I think it's sad you won't tell me how you feel because you know I won't judge you._ "Nothing," he sighed as he stood up. "I'm gonna go work on my story."

Maybe Naba was right. Maybe talking to a counselor about all this really would help.

He picked up Poptart and had made it into his doorway before Kevin called out his name in a small, quiet voice. When he turned around, his friend looked so scared and conflicted that he felt all his annoyance melt away.

"Please don't say anything," Kevin whispered, staring down at his lap.

"I won't," Arnold assured him. "Kev, I would never…I just want you to be happy, okay?"

"Yeah," he replied flatly. Arnold started back toward him, but stopped when Kevin flinched ever so slightly. Okay, so he wanted some time alone. Normally Arnold would respect that, but he'd taken his hand away from his neck and was starting to dig his nails into his arm, a gesture Arnold had come to recognize meant he was starting to spiral. Before he could say anything else, however, Bailey nudged his arm with her nose, and Kevin jerked out of his reverie and reached over to stoke her fur.

Placated for the moment, Arnold stepped away.

* * *

_The Next Day_

Kevin was seriously starting to hate Kentucky Fried Chicken. Nothing good ever happened at Kentucky Fried Chicken.

"Isn't this nice?" his mom said happily. "I can't remember the last time just the two of us went somewhere, can you?"

"Did it have to be here, though?" Kevin stabbed at his coleslaw with a plastic fork.

Mrs. Price frowned. "What's wrong with KFC? We come here all the time."

 _That's the problem_. "Nothing, Mom. It's grand," he sighed. "So, what's up?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What's this about?" he rephrased. "I mean, why are we here?"

She tilted her head in confusion, but Kevin could see right through her facade. "Does it have to be about anything?" she said innocently. "Can't I just ask for a nice lunch out with my graduating son?"

"I'm not graduating for another month."

"That month is gonna fly by quicker than you think." She watched him stab at this coleslaw and mashed potatoes and clicked her tongue. "Honey, quit playing with your food," she said. "You seem a little tense. What's wrong?"

 _Of course I'm tense_ , Kevin thought petulantly. _You never bring me here to tell me good news, so there's that. Also, I made out several times with my friend Connor. Remember him, the district leader on my mission? By the way, if you're wondering why I'm wearing the dumb shirt with the high color that Grandma gave me for Christmas, it's because I have a hickey on my neck._

Of course, he'd never say any of that out loud. "I've just had a lot of homework recently."

"But you're doing okay, right?" she prodded. "You're talking to Latoya and taking your medicine?"

"Yes, Mom."

"You're taking it as directed, right?"

Kevin sighed once more. Just once, he wished he could have a conversation with his parents that didn't turn back to his condition. "Of course, Mom," he said flatly. "I'm not overdosing and I'm not cutting myself, all right?"

Mrs. Price held up her hands. "Honey, I'm just checking."

"I know that," Kevin dipped a chicken strip in ranch. "Look, can we, uh, not talk about my depression?"

"Okay," she relented with a nod. "Okay, you're right. This is a happy occasion; my baby's all grown up and getting a degree!"

" _ **Mom**_ ," Kevin ducked his head, embarrassed, though he couldn't hide a proud smile from creeping on his lips.

"Oh, hush. You'll always be my baby, no matter how old you get. And then before we know it you'll be heading off to Indiana to get your doctorate. I just can't believe how time flies."

"Me neither," Kevin said as he scooped up a bite of potatoes.

"It's gonna be hard to have you so far away again," she admitted. "On the bright side, Indiana's definitely closer than Uganda."

They both chuckled at that, and then she added, "I'm so proud of you, Kevin. You've come so far."

"Aw, thanks, Mom," he replied happily. "I couldn't have done it without you."

She she was quiet, fingering the corner of her napkin pensively. Kevin fidgeted, apprehensive. _Shit, here it comes_.

"You know," she began, a little hesitantly. "Your father and I…well, we haven't always seen eye to eye."

Kevin raised his eyebrows. Well, that was news, and if it was true, then it sure as hell never showed in all his years growing up. He flashed back to that scene in the hospital, when she demanded that Kevin be sent to a proper rehab facility instead of a church-supported one. Part of the reason that stuck with him so vividly was due to it being the only time Kevin could ever remember her challenging his father.

"He's quite strict, as you know," Mrs. Price continued. "Always has been. Very traditional, very literal in his interpretation of scripture. As for me, well, I know you kids don't see my side of the family quite as much as his, but I wasn't raised like that. Of course Heavenly Father's word is law, but for us the focus was mainly on ideas, on service, and treating our fellow humans with the same kindness and mercy that Jesus shows us. Naturally, when I married your father I supported his views. He's the head of the household, how could I not?"

Kevin lowered his fork and pushed his food away, curiosity getting the better of his appetite.

"But honestly, I could never really let go of my upbringing for his," she went on. "And Kevin, I just wanted to let you know…when you came back from your mission, when Gerald was carrying on about how much you'd disappointed your family, your church…well, you didn't disappoint me. All I could think about was my mother, your Grandma Hatch. If she was still alive and could see you then, you have no idea how proud she would've been. Service to others at the cost of anything else, those were the words she lived by." She smiled up at him with shining eyes. "You remind me of her every day, dear."

"I do?" Kevin barely remembered Grandma Hatch; she'd died of breast cancer when he was nine, about a month or so after his family had returned from Orlando. "Wow. I mean, thanks Mom, it means a lot to hear you say that, but…not to be rude, but why are you telling me all this now? I could've really used this years ago."

Mrs. Price took a long, slow sip of her Diet Coke. When she was finished, she set the cup down, glanced around furtively, and then squared her shoulders.

"Because I'm leaving him," she said.

Kevin's jaw almost dropped. For a couple seconds he just sat there, speechless and shell-shocked. Surely he'd heard wrong, right? Right?

"You mean Dad?" he he stammered out. "You're leaving Dad? Like, for good?"

"That's right. I can't do it anymore, hon."

"Does he know yet?"

She shook her head.

"Huh." Kevin had never considered the possibility of divorce affecting his family. It had always been so foreign to him, a vague, abstract tragedy that affected families that weren't as righteous as his own. In school, he and his Mormon friends used to look upon the non-religious children of divorce with such a patronizing sense of pity: _those poor things, how awful, thank Heavenly father that'll never be us_.

This was before Connor's parents threw him out, before Elder Church confessed to his father beating his mother, before Kevin learned that parents could do far worse than mutually ending a broken relationship.

He looked back up at his mother now. "Can't you try to work it out?" he asked. "If this is just a communication thing—"

"Honey, I've met someone else." She said it with such finality that Kevin knew she didn't even want to entertain the idea of staying with Mr. Price, and Kevin blinked in surprise.

"You have?" he said. "Wait, Mom, are you _**cheating**_ on Dad? You can't—"

"No, no, of course I'm not. I don't want to, that's the problem. See, I was such a wreck, back when you were…well, when—"

"When I was in rehab?" Kevin finished, and she shook her head.

"Before that, actually. In the hospital. And Hal, he was so smart, and so insightful, and he really helped me see things in perspective. I couldn't stop thinking about him after that. We've grown closer since then, and he makes me feel things I've never felt before—"

" _ **Mom**_ ," Kevin hissed, wincing at the mental image.

"Not like _**that**_. Get your mind out of the gutter. Anyway, it isn't fair to your father. Emotional adultery is still adultery, so this has to end now."

"So…you're ending it with Dad, then?" Kevin asked. "Instead of with this Hal guy?" That seemed a little backward.

"I can't end it with Hal," Mrs. Price clarified. "This is just about romance; it's about so much more. Your father, he's…listen, don't take this the wrong way. I don't want to hurt your relationship with him. But I think we married more out of expectation than love, and I've spent so much of my life feeling suffocated by him. Not intentionally on his part, but he's so…so rigid. And I don't feel that way with Hal. He listens to me; he respects my viewpoint. For the first time since I was a young girl, I feel like I can truly be myself."

Kevin stared back at her, taking in her bright eyes and the small, happy smile she wore despite embarking upon completely unchartered territory, and his heart ached. He knew how she felt all too well. _I understand, Mom_ , he wanted to say. _I have something to tell you, too. I'm not straight. I'm in love with my friend Connor, and I'm really, really scared. I don't know what to do, Mom. If it makes you feel any better, we haven't had sex, because I don't want to have sex with anyone. Does that make me some sort of freak?_

Now was the perfect time, if there ever was such a thing. He took a shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak, only for the words to become stuck in his throat. _It's okay_ , he could hear Latoya's voice in his mind. _Try again_. He breathed in another gulp of air, but now his heart was racing and his hands were trembling.

"Kevin?" his mother began, alarmed. "Are you okay, dear? Do you need your pill?"

"I'm fine, Mom. It's just…" He couldn't tell her. Not today. The moment he realized this, he felt himself relax. "Is he Mormon?"

She chuckled. "I don't think he's very religious in general," she said. "But he supports me, and he's a good man." She looked back up at him with a twinkle in her eye. "A lot like someone else I know."

Kevin scoffed. "I wouldn't say I'm non-religious," he clarified. "I just haven't figured it out yet. I'm more of a…"

"Christmas and Easter Mormon?" she offered, and Kevin laughed.

"Sure, we'll go with that," he said.

They ate their food in silence for a few minutes before Mrs. Price spoke. "I just want to say something else, honey," she said. "This isn't about you. No matter how your siblings or father might react, none of this is your fault. Goodness knows, when Hal visited you in the hospital, the last thing I expected was—"

"Wait," Kevin said through a bite of chicken. He swallowed and added, "Why did he visit me? I don't know any Hals."

"Oh, of course you do," she said. "Hal Brenner? He taught a couple of your courses and stopped by to drop off a card for you after—"

"Dr. Brenner?!" Kevin gasped. Hell, no. This changed everything. "Oh my God, Mom, no. Get divorced if you want, but you can _**not**_ date Dr. Brenner. He's a jerk."

"I don't recall you being in charge of who I'm allowed to date," she replied smoothly. "And he isn't a jerk. Sure, he has a dry sense of humor and pushes his students hard to be their best, but he's a good man who genuinely cares about their success."

"He gave me a C."

"He didn't take pleasure in it, dear; he had to be fair. But he was so proud of how much you overcame that semester, so if you had just asked him for a letter of recommendation he could have explained—"

"Oh, sorry about that," Kevin said wryly. "I didn't think to ask for a letter from the professor who gave me my lowest grade. See, I didn't know that he was, quote, making my mom feel things she'd never felt before."

"That's enough of your smart mouth, young man," she said. "Now Kevin, you're my son and I love you, but Hal and I are going to start dating once this divorce is underway. I'm not ending it because he gave you the grade you earned. Understand?"

"Can't you date one of my other single professors?" Kevin pleaded pathetically.

"No."

With a scowl, he once again stabbed viciously at his coleslaw. "Fine."

* * *

_An Hour Later_

Kevin strode right into Dr. Brenner's office, where he was going over some homework problems with Brynn. Great, the two people he hated most in the world. "Who do you think you are?" Kevin demanded, glaring at the older man.

"What the hell?" Brynn looked up from her paper, annoyed. "We're kind of in the middle of something here."

"It can wait," Kevin said.

"Miss DeMarco's right," Dr. Brenner said, not even glancing up from his whiteboard. "Please wait outside, Mr. Price, and I'll be with you as soon as I can."

"See, I would do that if I were a regular student," Kevin replied. "But since you're dating my mom, I'm just gonna call this the perks of being family."

Brynn looked back and forth between the two of them, absolutely bewildered, and Dr. Brenner sighed. "Would you give us a minute, Miss DeMarco?"

"Sure." Brynn replied slowly, gathering up her things. "I'll just be, uh, outside." She hurried past Kevin, looking like she was going to burst out laughing at any second. Kevin shot her a glare on her way out.

"Have a seat, Kevin," Dr. Brenner said, gesturing to the recently vacated chair in front of him.

"Oh, it's Kevin now?" Kevin said as he settled down. "Guess we're getting more familiar, aren't we?"

Dr. Brenner ignored him as he capped his marker and took a seat in his office chair. "Technically, I'm not dating your mother yet."

"But you will be soon enough," Kevin snapped.

"Look, I know this is hard for you, but—"

"You're damn right this is hard for me," Kevin fired back. "I just found out today that my family's falling apart. And now you're involved and—look, don't take this the wrong way, Dr. Brenner, but—"

"You can call me Hal, if you'd like."

"I don't want to call you Hal. I want you to stop dating my mom, so that I can call you Dr. Brenner and you can call me Mr. Price, like we're at some old-time prep school. Then we won't have to deal with any of this."

Dr. Brenner cocked an eyebrow. "Is that really what you want?" he said. "I know it all seems strange from your viewpoint, but your mother isn't happy with your father. She is, however, happy when she's with me. Do you really want her to give that up?"

Kevin frowned. "Well no," he said. "But…well, see, um—"

"But what, Kevin?" he pressed. "What exactly is so upsetting to you? Spit it out."

"I don't like being around you!" he finally cried. "That's really rude, I know, but it's how I feel. It's not even you personally, it's just…you're a walking reminder of everything I did wrong my sophomore year. Do you know how embarrassing it is to look back on that?"

Dr. Brenner sighed and leaned back in his seat. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about," he said. "You've moved on since then. You're about to graduate and enroll in a doctorate program at IU. Excellent school, by the way."

"Thank you," Kevin said flatly.

"Furthermore, Kevin," Dr. Brenner continued. "Have you stopped to consider how this might actually benefit you?"

Kevin blinked, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You've been struggling with your religion, your worldview, for years. You've hit roadblocks trying to reconcile your perceptions with those of your family. If your mother is going to date anyone, wouldn't you prefer it be someone like me? Someone who can help her see a different point of view?"

Kevin nibbled his bottom lip as he thought it over. Well, when he put it that way…

He still wasn't thrilled by the idea. "I'm not going to call you Dad," he said firmly.

"I wouldn't expect you to," Dr. Brenner replied. "I have no intention of trying to replace your father, believe me."

"I might call you Grandpa, though. Or Old Man Brenner."

Dr. Brenner rolled his eyes. "If you must," he said. "Now if you're finished, would you mind sending Miss DeMarco back in here?"

Kevin nodded and headed out. When he reached the lobby of the Chemistry Department, he spotted Brynn still snickering.

"What the hell was that about?" she asked with a grin. "He's dating your mom? I thought your parents were married."

Kevin glanced over at the secretary's desk—thankfully, she was out—before replying, "They're getting a divorce."

"That's hilarious. Good for her."

"Hilarious?" Kevin bristled. "This is my family we're talking about, Brynn."

"Oh, come on. Your dad's kind of an asshole, and he probably hasn't given your mom any since the conception of your youngest sibling. It's about time she found someone else."

"Dr. Brenner, though?"

She shrugged. "He's a genius, and not bad looking for his age. Did you know he was a Rhodes Scholarship finalist back in the day?"

Kevin didn't respond; instead, he sunk down into one of the chairs with his head in his hands.

"I just can't deal with this right now," he groaned. "I've already got enough on my plate. I have so much homework, my family's become a disaster, and I've still gotta find a place to live in Bloomington." He leaned back, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thunk. "Which is gonna suck, because from what I can tell there's basically nothing in my price range that allows pets. Also, it's hard to find a roommate when you don't know anyone."

"You don't have to tell me," Brynn replied. "Have you been on Craigslist yet? Save yourself the trouble and don't."

"Where the hell are we both gonna find people that won't be slobs or axe murderers and will still pay their rent on time?" Kevin asked.

They stayed there for a few seconds, musing, before they slowly turned, looking each other up and down. Their eyes widened in realization and horror.

"Aw shit," Brynn muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and feedback is always appreciated!


	48. Baking Powder in the Clubs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of sexual assault and drug use

_**Senior Year, Spring Semester** _

**Chapter 48: Baking Powder in the Clubs**

"General Butt Fucking Naked died," Kevin remarked. To Latoya's credit, her eyebrows only raised a fraction in confusion.

"He was a one of the villagers we met in Uganda," Kevin continued. "His name…well, it's kind of a long story, actually. He was a warlord until Arnold converted him. Anyway, Naba got a letter from her dad yesterday. He had AIDS like a lot of the people in Kitguli, and I guess it finally got him."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she replied sympathetically.

Kevin sighed, curling his legs up under him on the couch. "I should probably feel worse about it than I do right now," he said. "None of the villagers we were close to died while we were there. Sometimes I'd actually forget how delicate their health was—so many of them just powered through it, you know? And then we got them that AIDS medicine grant, and things started to look up a little. But I guess there's only so much you can do. When Elder Ghali died the summer after we came back…God, I felt so awful. When Sister Ameya passed away last year, I cried for days. But with the General, I just…"

He reached for one of the throw pillows, hugging it to his chest. "We didn't talk much; I tried to avoid him for the most part. Really the only time we were ever friendly was when I got drunk and sang karaoke with him at our going-away party. See, he kind of…did something to me once."

Latoya had a way of subtly encouraging him to spill his guts without actually doing anything at all. She'd just watch him with a kind, understanding look in her eyes, and he'd suddenly be off.

"It happened when I first got there. Remember me telling you how selfish I used to be, and how invincible I always felt? Well, the villagers had started listening to Arnold, and I was feeling left out. Like I had to one-up him, right? So then the other elders started talking about how much the General was terrorizing everyone and saying that people were too afraid of him to actually convert, so I, um…kind of just stormed right into his camp—by myself, completely defenseless—to convert him on my own."

She actually broke her poker face at that, brow creasing in concern. "And you said this was a criminal warlord?"

Kevin nodded. "I was such an idiot back then. So incredibly naive. It definitely didn't work out the way I wanted. I gave him my spiel—I'm lucky he didn't blow my head off right then and there—and then he basically…um…"

Kevin squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, his face growing hot. "There was this kid in high school named Brian Randall," he said, and Latoya didn't seem bothered by the derailment. "He was a loner, this scrawny angry guy who listened to death metal and wore a lot of black. My friends and I used to make fun of him a lot, in our own special way. We couldn't outright pick on him since we were good Mormon kids, you see, so we'd talk about how sorry we felt for him, for being such a bitter outcast so far from Christ's love. We acted like we were concerned, but really we were just being assholes."

He snorted at his own behavior before continuing on. "One day we found him out back smoking a cigarette, and I started talking about how Heavenly Father doesn't approve of his children poisoning their bodies like that. I remember it plain as day. He stomped out the cigarette butt—he'd pretty much been on his last drag when I came over—and then he spat right in my face and told me if I didn't shut the hell up, he'd dig my Book of Mormon out of my backpack and shove it right up my ass. Of course, I knew it was a figure of speech, and I never would've thought actually doing such a thing was even possible. Fast forward three years later, and General Butt Fucking Naked ripped that book right out of my hands…and literally shoved it up my ass."

He looked up to gauge Latoya's reaction, only to find her wearing the same calm, empathetic expression as before. It made him wonder about her other clients' baggage; if this didn't faze her, then he could only imagine the kinds of crazy things she must've encountered in the past. Or maybe she was just that good. Kevin supposed either explanation was possible.

"I had to see Gotswana to get it removed," he went on, wincing at the memory. "And then I wanted to rebel against God for failing to protect me from the General, so I drank a ton of coffee. Of course I'd never had coffee before and didn't realize it was a diuretic, so I spent the whole night amped up on caffeine, crapping blood and peeing out all twelve cups. It was miserable."

"Sounds like it." Latoya jotted a couple words onto her pad.

"I never told my family. How exactly do you bring that up? _Hi Mom, just thought you should know someone stuck our religion's holy book up my butt in Uganda_. And the worst part is that a lot of people laugh when they find out. I don't blame them, really. Honestly, if I was hearing the story that would probably be my first reaction, too. Just the idea of it…it seems so insane, like there's no way it could actually be real. In their defense, they usually feel awful after they laugh. But still…" he sighed. "It kind of sucks, you know?"

Latoya didn't say anything, clearly sensing he wasn't finished. Kevin held the pillow a little tighter and plowed on. "All of the villagers found out pretty quickly," he said. "Gotswana didn't tell them maliciously, I don't think. That's just how things are there; there are no secrets in Kitguli and HIPAA doesn't exist there. Anyway, a few days after the excommunication Sister Kimbay pulled me aside and asked me how I was holding up. Which I thought was weird, since I wasn't feeling sick or anything, but I told her I was fine. And then she said something like, _You haven't lost your innocence until you say you have. The General can't change that_. I had no idea how to respond; I mean, of course I hadn't lost my virginity. Sure, what the general did was invasive, but I hadn't been raped, right? That's what I figured."

He let out another sigh, shifting. "I haven't thought about it in years; it's easier to just block the whole thing from my memory. But looking back now, Kimbay wasn't wrong, was she? What he did to me technically classifies as sexual assault. I was raped and I didn't even realize it."

"Before we move on with this, Kevin, I want to remind you that Kimbay's advice was absolutely correct," Latoya chimed in. "Virginity is a social construct with a flexible definition. I can tell it means a lot to you, so if you think you're still a virgin then you absolutely are."

"I know that," he said, although her assurance was still deeply comforting. "And I shouldn't be holding onto this as much as I am. The General was a good man when he died, he really was. But I can't help it; when Naba told me the news, my first thought was that I least I wouldn't have to face him at the wedding. Isn't that terrible?"

"What have we discussed about feelings, Kevin?" Latoya gently admonished.

"Don't feel guilty for them," Kevin rehearsed. "And I'm trying not to. It's not like I'm happy he's dead, I'm just not…well, torn up about it. And I wish I was, because that would mean I'm over what he did to me, which I'm clearly not."

He picked at the fringe on the pillow. Several times he had considered bringing his stuffed otter Oliver to his counseling sessions, though he always forgot when it came time to head out for his appointment. These days Oliver sat in a box on his closet shelf, safely tucked away from Bailey's and Poptart's reach.

"I'm just kind of overwhelmed right now," he said "I graduate in a little over a week and I've barely thought about it, because of my parents' stupid divorce and now everything with the General."

"What do you want to discuss first?"

Kevin shrugged. "The divorce, I guess," he said, since it was currently the most prominent. "The stuff you said before about Brenner helped. Once I quit thinking of him as my teacher and started just viewing him as my mom's boyfriend, my issues with him started to clear up. I mean, it hasn't been a walk in the park, but it's going okay."

"That's great to hear," she said with a small smile.

"Yeah. It's just like Mom predicted, though. My siblings all think it's my fault. Especially Deb. God, I can't stand her right now. She's engaged now, by the way. Perfect timing, right? She's a perfect little Mormon darling who understands the sanctity of marriage, while I just fuck it up for everyone. And then there's Jack…fucking Jack. I don't even think he gives a shit about the divorce, to be honest, but he'll take any reason to bash me. He's always hated me, you know. Ever since we were kids and I snuck a donut from the pantry and blamed it on him. I was five; it's not like I was deliberately out to get him. And it just got worse over the years…like, okay, remember how I turned a ratty old skate park into a dog park for my Eagle Scout project? How was I supposed to know at the time that's where he and his friends would hang out? It's not like he ever told me that. He's never outright said he hates me, but I've always been able to tell. He just looks at me, and I know. Like he's planning to chop me up in my sleep or something. That's obviously an exaggeration, but you get my drift."

He shifted, stretching his legs. "So anyway, my dad's pissed, everyone at church is acting like my mom is a dirty tramp, and all my siblings hate me except Katie, because she's the baby of the family and we shield her from everything. Not that I'm complaining, in this case. God, I can't wait to get out of this town." He looked up at Latoya and grinned. "Any chance you want to set up practice in Indiana?"

She smiled and shook her head. "You'll be fine without me," she said. "I have a colleague in Bloomington I'll be happy to refer you to. He works for IU, actually, so it won't cost you anything."

"Really? That's good. You're expensive, Latoya," he flashed her a teasing smirk and then looked her up and down, intrigued. "You basically know my entire life, but I don't know anything about you," he said, because all he'd learned since meeting her was that she had a degree from the University of Utah (as she'd told him during their first session), she had lived in Texas at some point (her cell phone had a Dallas-Fort Worth area code), and she was married (if the gold ring on her finger was anything to go by). "Do you have problems of your own?"

"Everyone has problems of their own," she replied. "But I don't share my personal life with clients. This session is for you, not me. If I'm expensive, as you say, then you want to get your money's worth, right?"

"I guess," Kevin chuckled. "Will you tell me more about yourself after this summer, when I'm not your client anymore?"

"I suppose so," she replied with bemusement. "Now then, back to your family. Tell me more about how that's progressing."

* * *

_The Next Day_

"Do you think he'll pass?"

Naba was standing by the Starbucks kiosk counter, chatting with Kevin as he made her peach iced tea. She stared down at her phone, wondering if Arnold would text her the results of his learner's permit driving exam or if he would just tell her when he returned.

Kevin shrugged in response to her question. "Hopefully," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he has to retake it, though. He didn't study much." He poured the tea into a cup. "How did he get there? He didn't have to take the bus, did he? I could've taken him on a day I was off."

"Connor drove him."

"Ah."

She grinned mischievously. "Want to place bets on how many times he has to take it?"

Kevin chuckled, handing the drink over. "We're terrible people, aren't we?"

"A little, yes."

As if on cue, the union doors loudly banged open. She spun around to find Arnold hurrying toward her, Connor following suit at a slower pace.

"I passed!" Arnold cried loudly, waving around a receipt, and Naba squealed happily. "Goodbye dinky little ID card, hello permit!"

"Hell yeah you passed!" Kevin said happily, lifting his palm and high-fiving Arnold. "That's awesome!"

"I know, right? I passed it on the first time! I even got to drive home. 'Course, I only made it the end of the parking lot before I got scared and Connor had to take over, but still!"

"I don't know why you freaked out like that," Connor said. "You were doing just fine."

"It was too much pressure right away," Arnold explained. "Plus, your check engine light was on."

"That thing's always coming on," Connor said as he waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine, probably….maybe…hopefully.""

"Still, though." Arnold smoothed out the paper in front of him. "My card's supposed to come in the mail; I just have this for now. The picture looks really bad, though, and the lady was mean so I didn't want to ask her to retake it."

"Don't worry about it. They always look bad," Kevin replied. "I swear they have some sort of uglifying lens on that camera; I look like a wax figure in mine."

Naba eyed him doubtfully. "I've seen your license before," she countered. "You look like a model."

"A shiny wax model, maybe," Kevin laughed. "Anyway, when do you want me to start practicing with you?"

"After graduation," Arnold said. "Gotta get through finals first, right? Hey, can you make me a vanilla bean frappuccino?" When Kevin started ringing it up on the register, he quickly added, "Dude, what're you doing? We're besties."

"That doesn't mean I'm gonna get my ass fired for you," Kevin responded. "Pay up, buddy."

Naba giggled as she watched Arnold begrudgingly pull out his wallet. "You're a crummy best friend, you know that?" he said. "You won't give me free drinks, you won't play Pokémon Go with me—"

Kevin grabbed a cup from dispenser, and Naba smirked when she noticed he was "accidentally" making it one size larger. "I told you; I don't have time to walk around looking for Pokémon," he said.

"Everyone has time to play Pokémon Go," Arnold protested. "You could catch them when you walk the dogs. Come on, Kev, you _**have**_ to play. You too, Naba. Right now it's just me, Toaster, and Jami. Stupid Connor made it up to Level 5, joined Team Instinct, and then deleted the app."

He gave Connor an accusatory glare, to which the former district leader merely shrugged in response.

"They didn't own any gyms," he said.

"That's why I told you not to choose Team Instinct," Arnold said. "You were supposed to join Valor like me. Red or dead!"

"The yellow bird thingie was cute, though."

"What are Valor and Instinct?" Kevin asked after he finished blending the beverage.

Naba playfully rolled her eyes. "Don't get him started," she said. Then she turned to Arnold and added, "You didn't even want to join Valor."

"Well not at first, no. Instinct sounded better, but no one joins them so you can't take over any gyms. But now I totally have team spirit and everything. Anyway, Kevin," he added as Kevin gave him the frappuccino. "My counselor says you lack attunement."

Kevin frowned as he picked up a cleaning rag. "He said I lack what?"

"Attunement." Arnold poked his straw through the lid. "Well, he didn't say it, exactly, but his book did. You lack the ability to harmonize; to become one with me and see how much I want you to give me freebies and play Pokémon Go."

Kevin sighed. "Fine, if it means that much to you, then you can show me how to play after my shift," he said.

"Really?" Arnold brightened. "Awesome!"

"Don't you have your cousin's birthday party this evening?" Naba reminded him, and he once again deflated.

"I forgot about it," he said. "Aw, man! My cousin Aden turned eight today," he explained to Kevin and Connor. "And he's having a party. Boys only, 'cause he thinks all girls have cooties. My parents are out of town, but they said I still have to go. Promise me we'll play tomorrow, Kev."

"Okay," Kevin replied with a shrug. "By the way, I didn't know your counselor wrote a book."

"Neither did I," Naba said curiously.

"No, no, he didn't write it," Arnold clarified. He swung his backpack over and fished through it until he pulled out a hardback with a blue cover. "He just owns it. See?"

Connor took the book and eyed the cover, brow furrowed in confusion. " _The Mindful Therapist_?" he read, flipping through a few pages. "He gave you one of his textbooks?"

"That's weird," Kevin said. "Latoya's recommended a few books to me before, but not her own textbooks from school."

Arnold squirmed. "Uh, he didn't exactly give it to me," he admitted.

"He didn't? You mean you stole one of his books?" Naba exclaimed with a glare. "Arnold!"

"No, I borrowed it!" He quickly replied. "Y'know, just…without permission. I'm gonna put it back, I swear. I just saw it there and I wanted to learn his tricks, that's all."

"So you just picked up one of his books?" Kevin finished wiping down the counter, barely able to contain his laughter. "That's terrible. And kind of amazing. I seriously love you right now."

"Stop encouraging him," Naba snapped. "You give that back the next time you see him, Arnold. Understand?"

"Okay, okay. I will."

" _Health in many ways can be seen as bathing in a wide open pool of possibility_ ," Connor read from the text, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "How very…new age." He opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off as something buzzed in his pocket. He handed the book back to Arnold and pulled out his cell phone, eyes widening in shock at the screen. Naba spotted the name "Jen" on there before he answered.

"Hello?" He said breathlessly to his older sister, before practically squealing. "Jen! Oh my gosh, it's been forever. I wasn't sure I'd hear from you. I mean, when neither you nor Audra responded to my email about graduation, I didn't think you'd come." He let out a little laugh. "How stupid of me, of _**course**_ you'd come. How's Audra? And Mom and Dad? And the cats, how are the cats? Do they miss me?"

He silently made his way over to a table by the side of the counter, listening to her speak. His face fell as he slowly sank into a chair. "Oh, you're not?" he said quietly, and Naba's heart sank. "Can I ask why? I mean, if you can't make it then you can't, it's just that, well, I'm graduating from college and that's kind of a big deal for me since a lot of people in my position have to drop out at some point…no Jen, I'm not criticizing our parents—actually, you know what?" His voice took on a bitter edge. "Yes, I am. Of course I am. I'm sure you understand why." After a several seconds of silence on his end, Connor bristled. "Oh, really? Since when are you so defensive of them?"

After a few seconds, his jaw dropped. "You're _**what**_?" he cried. "Oh my gosh, I didn't—when did you and Paul even get married? Hell, when did you get engaged? It is Paul, I assume…seriously? Jen, come on…" He sighed. "All right, fine; I'm sorry. I'll say heck next time. Really, girl, you've gotten uptight…okay, okay, I don't want to argue. Not right now." He grinned. "I'm so happy for you. Congrats on, well, everything, I guess. Is it a boy or a girl?" Connor smiled warmly at her response. "Yeah? That's amazing. Wow, I can't believe it. You're actually gonna be a mom, and I'm gonna be an uncle, huh?"

After another brief pause, the happy look on his face abruptly changed to one of utter disbelief, and Naba frowned. "Wait, what?" he sputtered, bewildered. "No, I heard you, I just mean—why not?" He scowled, and his voice trembled just a little when he spoke. "Well, who cares what Paul thinks? I'm your _**brother**_ , Jen…What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He rolled his eyes as she spoke. "Oh, come on. How? _**How**_ , Jen? How exactly will I be a bad influence? You're smarter than this. Do you really think I'm gonna turn my nephew gay? It's not contagious, you know!" Whatever her reply was, it clearly disgusted him, and he wrinkled his nose. "Ew, honestly, what exactly do you think I…what the fuck; I'm not a pedophile!…Well, what language am I _**supposed**_ to use? There's no other word that fits right now…okay, whatever," he said despondently, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I get it; you made your point very clear. I—I've gotta go."

His hand was shaking slightly as he ended the call, and Naba noticed his eyes were shining with unshed tears. Her heartstrings tightened.

"Connor," Kevin was the first to break the tense silence that fell over the group. He was clutching a cloth in his hands and staring at him uneasily.

Connor looked up at the three of them, mystified, as if he'd forgotten they were there to hear the whole thing. "Oh, uh, hey," he said dully, hands and shoulders trembling. After almost six years of friendship, Naba had seen Connor at his best and his worst, but this was new. She'd never seen him look quite this distraught, humiliated, and outraged before, not even when he was originally disowned.

"I have to go," he said bitterly. He quickly stood up, before anyone could respond, and rushed toward the exit.

"Connor!" Kevin called frantically. He turned toward the kiosk exit and then abruptly stopped, glancing back and forth between his green apron and Connor's retreating figure, wide-eyed and conflicted.

"I'll talk to him," Naba assured him. She gave Arnold—who was just standing there holding his textbook, stunned—a quick pat on the shoulder before hurrying after her friend.

Quick and lithe from years of theatre and dance practice, Connor could be quite fast when he wanted to be. Naba, however, was faster. She was out the door and racing after him in a flash.

"Connor," she cried when she was mostly caught up. Connor didn't acknowledge her as he strode across the sidewalk in the direction of his residence hall. "Connor, wait!"

"Go back to the union, Naba," he said without turning around. "Please."

"I can't just—stop, listen." She reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him around to face her. "Just talk to me, tell me what's going on."

"Isn't it obvious?" he spat. "You were right there. My sister never bothered to tell me she got married, and now I'll never get to meet my nephew because she doesn't want me corrupting him with my dirty, sinful nature." There was so much vitriol in his voice that Naba had to remind herself not to grimace. "You heard it all already, what more is there to tell?"

"Connor, listen," she begged. "Please don't close yourself off like this. I know how hurt you must be, and I am trying to help—"

"I don't _**want**_ your help!" he snapped angrily. He seemed sorry for his tone as soon as the words came out of his mouth; he sighed and raked a hand through his hair. Naba just watched him sympathetically.

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?" he added. "Not right now. All I want to do is go back to my room and…be by myself for a while."

Naba bit her lip. She didn't want him to be by himself. If she left him alone this evening he would probably go out, get drunk, hook up with someone, and then regret it later. It was his go-to reaction to trauma, as much as he liked to downplay the pattern. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Connor nodded. His arms were crossed and his head was cocked to the side, staring down at the ground. "I just…I can't deal with anyone right now."

"Okay." She stepped forward to give him a hug, and he appeared to instinctively flinch back from her grasp. That wasn't right; Connor was the most touchy-feely person she knew. He was always touching people—giving them pats on the shoulder, soothingly rubbing their backs when they were upset, and other similar actions—often without even realizing he was doing it. How badly could he be hurting right now if he'd become resistant to physical contact?

"Are you really sure?" she repeated. "Promise me you'll be okay alone for a while."

"Yes, Naba." She could tell he was trying to hide his impatience, and she backed off.

"Okay then. And Connor, I'm sorry your sister is doing this to you." She gave him a small, sad smile and added, "Text me later, all right?"

"I will," he said quietly, voice flat.

Naba turned back around with uncertainty brewing in her mind, and the two went their separate ways.

* * *

_That Night_

Normally, Arnold liked children's birthday parties. He did well with children, overall. Kids didn't think being a loud, bumbling nerd was weird; they thought it was fun. Until his mission, he'd always connected better with kids than he did with people his own age. It was because of this that his advisor suggested early on in his creative writing studies that he ditch his mission material and try writing children's stories, and once he did so, his work blossomed.

So yes, normally he enjoyed children's parties. However, when the child in question was his cousin, and when his extended family was at this party, asking what his post-graduation plans were, if he had a job yet, and off-handedly commenting that it was a pity he wouldn't be marrying his "little African fiancée" in the temple, then he didn't care for the festivities quite so much. And when he got stuck on cleanup crew, had to help put his grandpa to bed after a minor fall, and then had to take the bus home because his aunt and uncle couldn't even be bothered to offer him a ride, well that just really sucked.

Needless to say, when he fell asleep on the bus after all this and woke up about fourteen stops past where he was supposed to get off, he was quite pissed.

He got off at the very next stop and settled down on the bench to wait for another bus heading on the opposite direction, and he was in the middle of a huge yawn when his phone rang, Naba's name and smiling face popping up on the screen.

"Hey," he said when he answered. "Sorry I didn't call earlier; I'm not home yet. Aden's party was crap and the cleanup took forever. And then I missed my stop."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Did your relatives pester you about graduation too much?"

"Some. But oh well, what can you do?" He scratched the back of his neck and stifled another yawn. "What're you up to?"

"Connor has not texted me yet."

Arnold frowned. "Have you tried texting him?"

"Yes, and he hasn't responded." Even though he couldn't see her, Arnold knew she was pacing back and forth. "He told me he would text me this evening. It's night now."

"Maybe he took his Ambien and fell asleep," he suggested. "He was pretty upset; he probably wanted to chill."

"Maybe," she said doubtfully, and then she was quiet for several seconds. "Do you think it would be weird if I checked to see if his car was on campus? Just to make sure he's there."

"Seriously? Yeah, that's kinda weird. You're gonna drive around all the parking lots on campus looking for his car? That would take forever."

"True. Maybe I should just sneak into his hall."

"That would be even weirder! And all it's gonna do is piss him off if he finds out you don't trust him."

"It's not that I don't trust him, but—"

"Yeah Naba, it is. You think he lied to you and went out drinking. That means you don't trust him."

"Well, I have good reason," she snapped. "He always does this. He drowns himself in booze any time he feels like shit."

"I know that, but there's not much you can do. I mean, it's not like it's illegal. People drink sometimes; it happens."

"It's not like that with him. You don't spend as much time with him as I do; you don't know how reckless he can be. He's already been in the hospital once over this."

"That was years ago." Arnold let out a sigh as he thought it over. "Look Naba, I get that you're worried." Goodness knows he'd been over this with Kevin. "But you have to trust him, sometimes, okay? My counselor says it doesn't help when I hover over Kevin, and it's probably the same with you and Connor." He stared vacantly at the parking lot connected to a bar across the street as he spoke. "There could be all kinds of reasons he didn't text you back. Like I said, he probably fell asleep."

"I suppose," she said. "You always know how to make me feel better, you know that?"

Arnold didn't reply, still staring ahead at the lot—or at one car in particular. It was a white '94 Ford Fiesta, with a dent in the bumper and a long scratch along the driver's side door. He knew that car and it's owner all too well; in fact he'd just ridden in it today, to and from his driver's test. Hell, he'd driven it across the parking lot.

Well, shit.

"Arnold?" Naba was saying. "Honey, are you there?"

"Yeah, sorry," he said as he came to his senses. "Look, I think I see the bus coming. I'll call you later, okay?"

Once he hung up, he let out a groan and gazed ahead at the bar connected to the lot. It was a seedy nightclub on the corner of the street, and it's bright red door often caught Arnold's attention as a kid, when his mother would drive him across town to the orthodontist. He'd asked her once what was in that building, and her brow had creased in the rearview mirror.

"Don't think about that place, dear," she'd said. "Sin happens there."

Over the years, he'd gathered more information on the place via snide comments overheard on the school bus, by the lockers, and during lunch period. It was a gay bar, less popular among the college crowd than some of the others, and one where the management tended to look the other way as far as drugs were concerned. He frowned.

Connor was probably fine, right? He wouldn't just walk into some shady place all on his own, and besides, his middle school Mormon classmates probably exaggerated how bad the place was.

…But what if he _**wasn't**_ fine?

Arnold sighed. "Oh geez," he muttered to himself. He stood up a little straighter and squared his shoulders before starting forward. His parents would kill him if they knew he was going inside, but hey, it was all in the name of friendship, right?

He swung open that notorious red door, not surprised at all to find no one was checking ID. Immediately he was greeted by pulsating music along with the smell of sweat, cologne, and something musty that Arnold couldn't quite place. He resisted the urge to dance along to the beat and looked around in search of Connor.

It was hard to see past the moderate crowd inside, but he was nowhere within Arnold's current line of vision. Maybe over by the bar? Arnold spun around and came face-to-face with a broad-shouldered guy in a tight black tank top.

"Oh, hi!" Arnold called out over the music, backing up a little. "Hey, have you seen my friend Connor?"

Tank Top looked him up and down, clearly unimpressed with Arnold's stout little figure, before taking a sip of his beer. "How the hell would I know?" he asked once he'd swallowed.

"Well, um, he's kinda tall, and sorta thin, with brownish hair."

Tank Top glanced around at the multitude of men in the club who potentially fit that description, before shrugging. "Nah man, haven't seen your boyfriend."

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend; he's just my friend," Arnold clarified. "I'm engaged. To a girl. But I have a gay friend. Maybe two gay friends, actually! See, my bestie Kevin, he's kinda…"

But it was no use, Tank Top had already pushed past him and went on his way. Arnold surveyed the people by the bar in search of Connor before hanging his head.

Maybe he should just go. Connor could've moved on to some other place down the street by now, or ridden off in someone else's car, and this place was full of jerks like Tank Top so it's not like anyone was gonna help Arnold find—

A distinct laugh cut through the music. It wasn't loud, per se, but given that Arnold instantly recognized it, his ears trained in on the sound. He snapped his head back up and looked around until he noticed Connor curled up in a seat by the back corner of the room. Arnold beamed and stepped closer to get a better look.

He was sitting with two other guys, and empty glasses (along with three that were maybe half full) littered the table in front of them. "Really?" Connor was saying, still giggling slightly. "Eiffel Tower? That's what you call it?" He took a swig from the glass closest to him. "Well…I _**have**_ always wanted to go to Paris."

Arnold's shoulders sagged with relief. There was nothing to be afraid of. Sure, Connor was drinking, but he was fine. He was just sitting there, chatting with those guys about, what, travel destinations? He wouldn't be dumb enough to, say, drive home or anything like that. Well, this was good. Now Arnold could catch the bus back home, reassured, and Connor wouldn't even have to know he'd checked up on him.

Wait a minute. Why was one of the guys sprinkling salt—or was it sugar—on the table?

Said guy then proceeded to roll up a piece of paper about the size of a post-it note, and Arnold stiffened. Okay, he knew what was up now. Then, to his horror, the guy held it out toward Connor, who glanced at it for a second before shrugging and accepting.

"Oh hell, no!" Arnold screeched aloud. He promptly lunged forward and grabbed Connor's arm before he could take a snort. "What is wrong with you, Connor?!"

Connor gazed vacantly at him for a moment, before his eyes brightened in recognition. "Oh hi, Arnold. Want some cocaine, Arnold?" he drawled. Another bout of giggles erupted from his mouth. "That's fun to say, isn't it? Arnold. _Aaarrrnooold_." He snorted and then proceeded to dissolve into laughter.

Arnold ignored his antics. "No, I don't want cocaine, and you shouldn't either!" he cried. "Did you learn nothing from DARE?"

"Oh my God, you're right. We should play truth or dare. Hey, guess what?" Connor gestured over to his new friends. "These are…um, I don't remember their names, but I'm totally gonna have sex with them."

"No you're not. How much have you had to drink?"

"A lot," Connor chuckled, and Arnold shook his head.

"Come on, let's go."

"But I wanna stay here," Connor whined.

"You heard him, big guy," one of Connor's new friends suddenly spoke up. His eyes flitted to Connor, gesturing over to Arnold. "This your boyfriend or something?"

"Uh, yes," Arnold lied before Connor could reply. "He's my boyfriend, and we're very much in love, and he needs to come home with me now. Come on." He yanked Connor up and pulled him toward the exit.

Connor was fairly pliant; Arnold suspected he wasn't really present enough at the moment to resist. He pushed the door open and stepped outside just in time to see the last bus of the night leave the stop. Well, great. How were they gonna get home now?

"Do you have an Uber account?" Arnold asked.

Connor laughed. Arnold was started to get really tired of that sound. "Yeah, but I also have a car," he said. He leaned against Arnold for support, petting the sleeve of Arnold's worn t-shirt. "Your shirt is so soft."

"We can't take your car," Arnold replied. "You're clearly too drunk to drive."

"But we can't leave it here; it'll be sad." Connor proceeded to double over and erupt into another fit of giggles. Arnold waited for him to stop, but he appeared to have no intention of doing so.

"What're you laughing at?" he asked.

That only made him laugh harder. "I don't know," he said in between snorts.

"Are you drunk _**and**_ high right now?" Arnold asked, hoping he hadn't already had a snort of cocaine earlier in the evening.

"I'm high on life," Connor replied cheerily. "And ecstasy."

Arnold rolled his eyes. Truth be told, he didn't want to have to explain his friend's behavior to a potentially nosey Uber or cab driver. He hesitated. Well, if Connor wanted his car that badly…Arnold _**did**_ have his permit now.

"Give me your keys," he muttered, before he could change his mind.

"What?" Connor asked blankly.

Arnold just reached over and grabbed them straight out of Connor's pocket, then pulled him along toward the car. He opened up the passenger door and gently pushed him inside, and Connor tumbled into the seat.

"Where are we going?" he asked once Arnold had buckled himself in on the driver's side.

"I'm taking you back to my house," Arnold said. "My parents aren't home."

"Yeah? Are you gonna seduce me?" Connor chortled. "Buy me dinner first. And check with Naba; she can totally join if she wants—"

"Connor," Arnold snapped. "Shut up."

Connor blinked in surprise. "Cranky, aren't we?" he said in between snickers.

"Heck yes, I'm cranky," Arnold retorted. "I'm really mad at you, Connor. Naba trusted you to keep yourself safe, and now look at you. And this isn't the first time we've been through this; you have a real problem."

"I think you're making way too big a deal out of this," Connor replied with a sloppy smile.

"You almost tried cocaine, Connor! Cocaine! You know what would've happen if the police had showed up or something? You could've gone to jail, and there goes your assistantship at IU. Seriously, if your goal is to be a role model for college students, you're doing a lousy job so far. Oh, and also," he added as an afterthought. "If you think those guys were gonna buy you a plane ticket to Paris, then you're crazy."

For a brief moment, Connor looked very confused. Then he chuckled, and an unnerving grin spread across his face. "Why shouldn't I be a bad role model?" he said. "My family already thinks I'm trash; why should I even try to prove them wrong anymore?"

"Because they _**are**_ wrong," Arnold said firmly. "They're completely wrong. And anyway, you can't live your life based on what they think. You have to achieve your goals for yourself, because you deserve it." He fumbled with the key for a bit before getting it in the ignition and revving up the car, cringing as the check engine light glowed in front of him. "I have to, um, drive now, so can you just sorta sit there quietly?"

Connor honored his request, though whether it was because he realized Arnold was annoyed and needed to focus, or because he was simply too mystified by the rough texture of the dashboard, Arnold wasn't sure. He looked the district leader up and down—hunched over in the seat, running his fingers along the dash, eyes bright but still off somehow—and sighed. This definitely was _**not**_ what the lady at the DMV meant when she said he had to be accompanied by a licensed driver, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The drive home took twice as long as it should have; Arnold was fairly certain of the way but drove incredibly slow, terrified a cop would spot him and pull him over. Connor reached for the radio controls once, and Arnold promptly swatted his hand away.

"I need to focus," he said. Geez, when did he start sounding so much like Kevin?

When he finally pulled into his parents' driveway, he let out a huge sigh of relief.

"Whew, we made it," he said triumphantly. "My first drive! How about that, huh?"

Connor didn't reply. He'd gradually mellowed out over the course of the trip; maybe the high was starting to wear off. Well, Arnold definitely wasn't gonna complain about that. He led Connor out of the car, through the front door, and to the nearest guest room.

"So uh, this is where you can sleep, and you can use this bathroom right here," he explained. "There's toothbrushes and tiny toothpastes in the drawer; the dentist always gives us a ton. I'm gonna get you some PJs. They're mine so they'll be a little big, but they'll work. Go ahead and start getting ready for bed."

Arnold headed up to his room, but rather than going straight to his dresser, he closed the door and reached for his phone, dialing up Naba.

"Hi, babe," he said when she answered. "Hey uh, don't go looking for Connor. He's here in the city. At my house."

"He is?" she said. "Why would he go down there? Wait," her tone quickly changed from puzzled to suspicious. "You found him at a bar, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but don't worry! He's fine! He…he didn't do anything crazy." Arnold wasn't sure why he chose to lie, but now he was convinced it was a good thing. No use making her any more stressed than she already was. Besides, Connor would already feel like shit tomorrow; he didn't need to face Naba's wrath as well. "He was just hanging out at a bar with some, um, people he knew, and then he couldn't drive so he's staying here."

"He got drunk?" Naba let out an annoyed growl under her breath. "I knew he would; I just knew it! I swear I am going to—"

"No no, he didn't get drunk! He just had a couple beers and was like, a teeny bit tipsy. So I suggested he stay the night here, just to be safe."

Naba was quiet for almost a minute, mulling it over. "That was good of you," she finally said, just when Arnold was starting to think she didn't believe him. "Can I talk to him?"

_Heck no_ , Arnold thought. That would be a disaster. "He's in the shower right now," he lied, rather smoothly if he did say so himself. "I can ask him to call you back later, but I think he just kinda wants to sleep so—"

"No, that is fine," she said quickly. "I'll be coming down there tomorrow morning, so I can speak to him then. Tell him I said good night."

"For sure," Arnold replied. "See you tomorrow. Love you!"

They said their goodbyes, and then Arnold gathered up some pajamas and headed back to the guest room.

"Naba says good night," he called. Then he looked up and halted in his tracks.

Arnold wasn't sure exactly what happened in the short time he was gone, but Connor was lying across the bed with his face buried in the pillow, shaking with quiet sobs. Oh no. This was all wrong. Connor was _**not**_ supposed to be crying. He couldn't cry, because he was the only one in this room who actually knew how to handle crying. Connor was the relentlessly cheerful RA who could manage homesick and overstressed student like it was a piece of cake, while Arnold was…sure, maybe he'd been a prophet at one point in time, but all he did in these situations was fumble around and babble on about nothing.

He took a deep breath. He was having to step out of his comfort zone a lot this evening.

"Connor?" he began. "Um, Connor, what's wrong? If the pillow isn't fluffy enough then I can get another one; you don't have to cry about it."

A few seconds passed before Connor spoke, voice muffled. "My sister Jen doesn't love me anymore."

Arnold's stomach sank. Was it bad that he'd been hoping Connor was still too high to dwell on his problems? That his tears were simply an uncontrollable reaction, like his earlier laughter, and that he would simply pass out and sleep it off? He didn't know what to say now; he had no words, no magic phrases, that could make Connor's situation any better.

"Neither does Audra, my other sister," Connor continued when Arnold didn't respond. "She hasn't said anything to me about it, but she idolizes Jen. Whatever Jen does, that's what she'll do. Always has."

"Maybe not this time," Arnold said. "Maybe this time she won't—"

"She would've reached out to me by now." Connor lifted his head and wiped his eyes. "And you know what? My nephew won't love me either. He won't even know who I am."

Arnold took a seat at the foot of the bed as Connor continued. "I've always wanted a family, Arnold," he was saying. "I've accepted that I'll probably never get married or have kids of my own, but I thought I would at least have their kids. I would at least get to be an uncle, right? But I can't even have that, and no matter how hard I try, it's not good enough." He turned his head away as more tears streamed down his cheeks. "I'm gonna spend the rest of my life alone and worthless."

"You're not worthless," Arnold told him adamantly. "You have a lot to be proud of. Lots of people love you, and look at all the stuff you've done! You basically kept our mission from falling apart, you got a really good assistantship, you're about to graduate college—hell, you're going on for _**more**_ college. One of my teachers said something the other day; wanna know how many Americans have a master's degree? Only eight percent. Think about it; you're about to accomplish something most people never do!"

Connor's response was merely a sniff and a shaky breath, so Arnold pressed on. "And you don't know that you're never gonna get married or have kids," he said. "How would you even know that right now? You've got your whole life ahead of you to do whatever you want! But hey, even if you never do, you're still not gonna be alone. You do have a family, you know. You can bet your tiny heiny that whenever Naba and I have kids, they're gonna call you Uncle Connor."

Connor dried his eyes again and lowered his head back down to the pillow, a sad, pensive expression on his face. "My stomach feels weird," he then said abruptly, catching Arnold by surprise.

Arnold promptly leapt off the bed. "Hold on, let me get you a bucket," Arnold called behind him as he hurried toward the kitchen. "Puke in there if you have to. Don't do it in the bed or my parents will kill me."

By the time he located a small pail and returned to the guest room, Connor had fallen asleep, still in his day clothes and sprawled across the top of the covers. "Geez," Arnold muttered, setting the bucket on the floor within quick reach. "You're a piece of work, you know that?"

He thought back to his basic MTC first aid training, trying to recall what to do for someone who was passed-out drunk, before reaching down to shift Connor from his back to his side. Connor stirred over so slightly, but remained soundly in dreamland. Arnold watched him carefully; come to think of it, had he ever seen Connor asleep before? If he had, he couldn't remember it; the whole concept was weird somehow. He sighed and then pulled a blanket out of the dresser, draped it across Connor's figure, and left the room, making a mental note to check on him later.

He had just settled down on the sofa when his phone rang, the words _Best Friend!_ prominently displayed on the screen. Arnold quickly accepted the call.

"Hey, bestie!" he said. "How was the rest of your shift?"

"Long," Kevin's voice was a little distant, meaning he was on speaker, and Arnold could hear the clank of pots and pans. "Want spaghetti tomorrow?"

Arnold's stomach rumbled at the thought. "Kevin, you know I'm always down for spaghetti," he said. "Why are you cooking in the middle of the night?"

"I stress-cook, you know that. I stress-eat too, hence why I don't fit into my clothes from freshman or sophomore year anymore," he replied. "Anyway, Naba said Connor went out drinking and he's at your place now. Is he okay?"

Ugh, time for more lies. Why did Naba even text Kevin so quickly, anyway? Is that all anyone wanted to do tonight, talk about Connor? Of course they were all worried about him, but this was exhausting for Arnold right now.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," he replied. "He was just tired and decided it would be better not to drive back to Ogden tonight."

"Yeah, that's what Naba said. How drunk was he?"

"Not much," Arnold assured him, voice chipper. "Just wanted to be responsible, you know! Safety first, right?"

Kevin halted whatever he was currently doing—from the sound of it, Arnold figured he was stirring something in a pot. "You're lying, aren't you?" he challenged. Before Arnold could protest, he added, "We've lived together for ages; I can tell when you're lying."

Crap. Arnold should have known. "Don't tell Naba," he began. "But he was pretty plastered when I found him. Also high. But don't worry, I stopped him before he tried the cocaine!"

"The cocaine." Kevin repeated flatly as he slowly resumed his stirring. "Are you _**sure**_ it was cocaine? Not, like, baking powder or something?"

"Yes, I'm sure it was cocaine! Why the heck would he snort baking powder?"

"I don't know what the kids are doing nowadays!" Kevin snapped defensively. "I'm trying to come up with something better than Connor almost becoming a crack addict, okay?"

"I told you; it was cocaine, not crack."

"They're basically the same thing."

"Oh yeah?" Arnold narrowed his eyes. "How d'you know?"

"I'm just assuming from what I've seen on movies," Kevin replied. "Anyhow, good call on that. Stopping him, I mean."

"Thanks. He's fine now; he's asleep."

"Were all his vitals normal? Did you turn him on his side so he won't choke if he throws up?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's all good."

Kevin sighed, obviously relieved. "Okay. I'll come down with Naba tomorrow; I want to talk to him. We'll do your Pokémon thing afterward."

"Oh, good idea! We'll catch more in the city. But, um, don't talk to him too much, okay?"

Kevin paused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's probably not gonna feel up to you two smothering him," Arnold elaborated. "Remember the morning after you got drunk freshman year? Or the day after our party in Uganda? Now imagine you'd taken ecstasy, too."

Arnold could practically hear Kevin wince on the other end of the line. "Good point," he admitted. "Well anyway, see you tomorrow?"

"Sure thing! Bye, Kev." Arnold hung up and then slumped down further into the couch, completely worn out.

* * *

_The Next Day_

Naba sat quietly in Kevin's passenger seat as the two drove south toward the Cunningham's upscale neighborhood on the slopes of Mount Olympus. She gazed out the windshield as the cityscape came into view, the LDS Church Office Building and Salt Lake Temple prominently standing out.

"You know, I still kind of love Temple Square," Kevin said off-handedly. "Weird, huh? You would think I wouldn't want to go there anymore, given my current relationship with the church. But I don't know, it's just so damn pretty."

"It is very beautiful," she agreed. "And peaceful."

"I use to drive down there a lot in high school," he added. "I'd pick a spot somewhere in the gardens to pray and read my Book of Mormon. We didn't get come down much for church business, except for the occasional wedding. Oh, and for General Conference; we did that every year. Otherwise we just used the Ogden temple."

"The Ogden one is pretty, too."

"It is. It was kind of ugly before the remodel though," Kevin said. "I still come to Temple Square sometimes, actually. It's nostalgic. Of course, nowadays I'm not praying or reading scriptures."

"What are you doing instead?"

"Homework," he said flippantly. "Always homework."

"You will be done with that soon enough." With a mischievous grin, she added, "And I'm sure grad school will be _**much**_ easier."

He snorted. "Oh, I'm sure," he replied with a wry smile. They silently listened to the radio for the rest of the drive, Naba sneaking furtive glances at Kevin every now and then. He seemed unusually concerned for someone visiting a friend that merely had a drink or two the night before. Did he know something she didn't?

They had barely pulled into the driveway when Arnold came rushing out the door. "Hurry up!" he said, snatching Kevin's arm the second he got out of the car. "Come on, we gotta go! Someone set off a lure around the block."

"Now?" Kevin protested as Arnold pulled him toward the sidewalk. "But I've gotta pee."

"Pee later, Kev! Your bladder can wait!"

Naba smiled and shook her head, watching her fiance pull his reluctant friend away, and then she stepped inside the house.

"Connor?" she called. The only response she got was a disgruntled groan from the guest room down the hall, the door ajar. When she made her way over and peered inside, she found Connor sprawled across the bed, his clothes wrinkled and hair in disarray. He squinted up at her and tried to smile, though it looked more like a grimace.

"Hi, hon," he said, voice weak and scratchy.

"It's a little late for you of all people to still be in bed," she said as she stepped forward and took a seat on the bed. "Arnold said you had a couple drinks and decided to stay here instead of driving back up to Ogden, just to be safe. That was a lie, wasn't it?"

Connor let out an amused huff. "Is that what he said?" he asked. "That was sweet of him. Don't be mad at him, okay?"

She frowned. "Okay," she agreed. "Now what did you do, Connor?"

Connor stared up at the ceiling, his hand on his forehead as he tried to remember. "I went with some people to Club Zan in town, had a few drinks, then I met this guy and talked to him for a while," he said. "I had a few more drinks, and he gave me some sort of pill—I think it was ecstasy—and then we made out and…" he screwed up his eyes in confusion. "Did I give him a handjob? Maybe, I can't recall. Anyway, then we drove down to the city and met up with his friend, and Arnold found me while they were offering me crack."

She almost facepalmed. "Please tell me you didn't accept."

"I think I tried to. Could you imagine if I had ended up with all of that shit in my system at once? Arnold might've actually saved my life." With a shrug, he added, "Which is kind of awkward, since I'm pretty sure I hit on him at some point."

Naba didn't reply; instead, she slumped over on the bed and let her head rest against his shoulder. How many times was he gonna get himself almost killed before he learned his lesson?

Connor seemed to be thinking the same thing. "You probably want to say that you told me so," he said. "That we went through this a couple summers ago. You know, after that night in the hospital I actually thought I would get my shit together. How did I end up right back where I started?"

"I don't know," she told him sadly. "I really don't know, Connor."

He sighed and and massaged his temples. "Naba, I think I'm actually starting to become an alcoholic," he admitted. "Like, for real."

Naba wasn't sure how to respond. Her instinct was to say, _Yes Connor, you're out of control and you need to stop this shit right now_. But how exactly would he take that? So instead, she said nothing.

"I tried cutting back, and that went nowhere," he continued. "I need to quit drinking completely, don't I? Before I…before something really bad happens."

_Yes_ , Naba thought adamantly. _Yes, please, just quit right now_. "It wouldn't be a bad idea."

He groaned and buried his head in the pillow. "I really don't want to. God, it's gonna be so hard."

"You can do it," she assured. "Kevin overcame his addiction, after all. There is hope."

With another sigh, he lifted his head back up again. "I know. It's not the same, though," he said. "Not to make light of Kevin's struggles, but people aren't exactly throwing Adderall at him left and right. How often do you go places where alcohol's involved, though? Hell, I'm going to grad school. Drinking's like a staple there."

"It will be hard, yes, but not impossible," she replied. "Look on the bright side; I would assume the first step is clearing all the booze out of your fridge. And since you live on campus, you don't have any there. See? The first step is already complete."

"Uh…sure." Connor shifted somewhat guiltily, and Naba's eyes narrowed.

"Connor," she said suspiciously. "Have you been smuggling alcohol into your dorm room?"

"It's called a residence hall," he corrected.

"Answer the question."

He offered a sheepish little shrug in response.

"Are you serious?!" she huffed with indignation. "You're an RA! You write people up for that, you hypocritical asshole."

"One could potentially make the argument that I don't write them up for having it; I write them up for being stupid and getting caught."

" _ **Connor**_."

"Okay, okay," he said. "I'll get rid of it when I get back."

"You damn well better," she said.

"Are you gonna watch as I pour it down the sink? Because that's what we have to do with our residents."

"No," she snapped. "I'm gonna find every student you've given an alcohol violation to and let _**them**_ watch."

He chuckled and let his head slump down to rest against hers. "Sure you will," he murmured. They both lay there for a long time, quiet and reflective.

* * *

_The Following Week_

"Jami Joanne Jackson," the announcer called. Beaming, Jami stepped up on stage to receive her diploma folder while her friends—minus Chris, who sat in the graduate seating along with the other members of morning ceremony—all happily clapped in the audience.

"What grade did she say she's gonna be teaching?" Kevin quietly asked Naba.

"Second," she replied. "In the Jordan School District."

"Ugh, who knew graduation could be so boring?" Arnold whined. "And we have to do this all again! Why couldn't they just stick us all in one big graduation?"

"That would have taken just as much time," Naba argued.

"Okay then, why couldn't they have put all our colleges in this ceremony and everyone else's in the other one? Then we would've only had to go to one of 'em!"

"That's too many colleges for one ceremony," Connor replied. When Arnold gave him a blank stare, he added, "Well, think about it. You and I are in the College of Arts and Humanities, Kevin and Brynn are in the College of Science, Toaster's in the School of Business, and Jami's in the College of—"

"Ugh, okay, fine," Arnold grumbled. "Stop using the word college." Naba watched him idly flip through the program for a few seconds, stopping on one page. "Oh, look Kevin, I found you on the Honors section!" he chirped. "Check it out: _magna cum laude_ , whatever that means. Good for you, buddy!"

"It means with high honors," Brynn explained. "And look, there's my name under _summa cum laude_ , which means with highest honors. Because I did better."

"Whatever," Kevin sneered. "In a few years people will be calling me Dr. Price and they'll be calling you nothing, because everyone knows that any random person off the street can make it through law school."

"Is that so?" Brynn quipped. "You know what else any random person off the street could do? Punch you in the face."

"Ha ha. You're just jealous because you're not coming to Disney World with us this summer."

She scoffed. "Right, sure," she said sarcastically. "Disney World? What am I, four?"

"For your information," Kevin began. "I went to Disney World when I was nine, not four, and it was freaking magical!"

"All right, shut up," Naba cut in. "Are you two sure you'll be able to live together next year?" To her surprise, they both looked at her like she was crazy.

"Yeah," Kevin said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"We're driving to Bloomington next week to go apartment hunting," Brynn added.

Naba raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna drive all the way to Indiana together?" she said. "In the same car? Alone?"

"No, my mom's going with us," Brynn corrected. "Like I would ever spend 22 hours in a car alone with him."

"Oh please," Kevin snapped. "Like _**I'm**_ the problematic one here?"

"Wait," Arnold chimed in. "You won't spend a day in a car with each other, but you're okay living together?"

Kevin and Brynn glanced at each other and then back to Arnold. "I'm not sure what you're getting at here," Brynn said, while Kevin just stared at him, puzzled. Naba shook her head.

"Quiet, everyone, they're about to call Toaster's name." Connor said abruptly before she could elaborate. They all turned their attention back to the front just in time to hear "Christopher Ray Thomas, _cum laude_ " over the speakers, and they clapped wildly as he stepped forward.

"Aw, look at him," Connor said with a happy sigh. "He just got his degree. In a few short weeks he'll be moving to Salt Lake to work as a management analyst at some really dull insurance company. I don't exactly know what that means, but I think it involves sitting in a cubicle looking at spreadsheets. He's gonna love it. I'm so proud."

The rest of the ceremony felt like an eternity, but as soon as it was over, time seemed to fly. Everyone took off to go have lunch with their families, and before they knew it, the second ceremony was looming ahead. Naba and Arnold pointed the Cunninghams toward the direction of audience seating, and then she helped him into his graduation attire.

"You were supposed to hang this up two weeks ago," Naba said as she eyed the square creases across his gown.

He shrugged. "It's fine like this," he said.

They stepped toward the graduate and faculty check-in area, where they spotted Kevin being fawned over by his mother. Beside them stood Dr. Brenner, in full academic regalia.

"Sweetie, I'm so proud of you," Mrs. Price cooed, smoothing out the sleeves of Kevin's gown. "You're all ready to conquer the world."

"I don't know about that Mom," Kevin said. "But thank you. I never would've made it this far without you." He turned to Dr. Brenner with a teasing smirk on his face. "So you've got a card with a check for me, right, Old Man Brenner? After all, we're practically family now."

The professor rolled his eyes. "Congratulations, Kevin," he said as he headed toward faculty check-in. "Now go line up."

"Aw, I love you too!" Kevin called back, and his mother smacked his arm.

Naba smiled at the exchange and then turned back to Arnold. "Go meet Connor in line," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

She made her way to the audience seats and settled down next to Chris and Jami, both of whom were happily staring down at their diploma folders.

"I know it's empty until they make sure we've paid our bills and all," Chris said. "But still, it's awesome."

"You've earned it," Naba agreed. They settled in and waited for the processional to begin. After what seemed like an eternity, the announcer began calling the names of the College of Science graduates.

"Kevin Michael Price, _magna cum laude_ ," the announcer stated, and Naba, Chris, and Jami cheered along with the Price family seated a few aisles down. Kevin was grinning ear to ear as he shook the president's hand and accepted his folder. It seemed like it was just yesterday that he was lying in a hospital bed talking about how he didn't have the energy to live anymore, and now here he was. Naba felt her eyes get a little misty, and she sniffed.

"Brynn Tanya DeMarco, _summa cum laude_ ," the announcer added when it was her turn, and Naba definitely caught Kevin's subtle eye roll as he stepped off the platform. With a little chuckle, she began fiddling with her program, tuning out until they reached the Arts and Humanities students.

"Arnold Cunningham." Naba cheered once more as Arnold made his way up, shook the president's hand and, overcome with emotion, threw his arms around the man in a hug. The president patted his back awkwardly, handed him his folder, and then shooed him on. Naba bit back a laugh.

"Connor James McKinley." Chris and his parents leapt to their feet as they clapped, and Naba felt her eyes well up a little once more when it occurred to her that no one in the audience would have any idea that the McKinleys weren't here today because Connor's real family, the people who stuck with him through thick and thin, were all currently right there. Connor accepted his folder and then caught her eye as he left the platform, giving her a little wink. She giggled and waved in response.

Who cared if she had to sit through several long speeches and hundreds of names she didn't recognize? Today was perfect.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one; it was long and challenging. Thanks for reading, and feedback is always appreciated!


	49. Two Weddings

_**Summer After Graduation** _

**Chapter 49: Two Weddings**

Kevin yawned and settled down on the couch with a paperback copy of _Gone Girl_ in hand, idly opening it up to his bookmarked page. He hoped to at least get a few minutes to himself today, but with Arnold and Naba's wedding being tomorrow and all the last-minute preparations that came with it, he wasn't expecting too much. In fact, the groom in question was currently seated in plain sight at the kitchen table, with Connor standing behind him running his fingers through his giant mop of hair.

"Okay sweetie," Connor was saying, examining the strands. "What exactly are you wanting here?"

"I want it to look sexy as hell," Arnold replied brightly. "Can you do that?"

Connor shrugged. "I mean, I can trim it up and maybe—possibly—make it somewhat even."

Arnold mulled it over, nodding. "Okay, sure. Let's do that."

Connor looked less than confident as he reached for the comb and a spray bottle he'd recently filled with water. "Before I start, I'm gonna advise you one more time to maybe visit an actual hair stylist who knows what they're doing."

"Nah, it's fine," Arnold said. "That's more work. Besides, I trust you. I'm sure it'll look just like I went to Supercuts!"

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Kevin asked, watching as Connor began gently working the knots with his comb.

"Yes, buddy, it is. There's nothing wrong with Supercuts; quit being a hair snob," Arnold said exasperatedly. "Anyway, I don't have time to go all the way to a barber. Too much to do. Isn't it crazy? This time tomorrow, I'm gonna be a married man!"

"Not if I can't find my bracelet, you won't," Naba called from Arnold's bedroom, Kevin could hear her pulling open drawers. "It was here last I saw it. I swear if you threw it away or something, I will leave your ass at the altar."

"I wouldn't have thrown it away!" Arnold protested. "It's around here somewhere. I probably accidentally packed it in a box or something."

Kevin chuckled. That was most likely exactly what happened. The lease to Naba's apartment was up in one week, which meant that the day after their Salt Lake wedding, she and Arnold would be moving in with the Cunninghams. Brynn would then be moving into Arnold's old room to finish out the two months remaining on Kevin's lease before they left for Indiana, and Jami was joining Chris in West Jordan. As a result, the apartment was littered with Arnold's half-assed packing job.

Of course, there was one other way the bracelet could have easily gone missing. "Maybe Poptart hid it somewhere," Kevin suggested. "He does that sometimes because he's an idiot." The dog, who was nestled by Kevin's side, perked up when he heard his name. Kevin reached over to pat his head. "Isn't that right, Mr. Poptart?" he cooed. "You're just a silly little idiot, and in a few days you'll get to live with the Cunninghams and be an idiot there."

"Oh, you're gonna miss him," Connor said. "I know you are."

"Not really," Kevin laughed. "He's sweet, but he's a pain. As long as I have Bailey, I'm fine." Connor looked like he was gonna challenge that assertion, but simply refocused on Arnold's hair without comment.

Naba came out into the living room, looking frazzled. "I will have to find it later," she said. "I still have to pick up my dress. Tell me if any of you see it, okay?"

"Sure," Connor nodded. "And cheer up; you're getting married tomorrow. Be excited!"

"I am," she said with a little laugh. "Believe me, I am. There is just so much to do."

"Hey, what're you doing about your last name?" Kevin asked. It was something he'd been wondering for a while, but never thought to ask when she was around. "Are you taking Arnold's? Keeping yours? Hyphenating?"

"I am taking Arnold's, and Hatimbi will be my middle name," she explained.

"Yeah, now I'm the only one without a middle name," Arnold added. "No fair. You guys are so lucky."

"Okay, there's nothing special about my middle name," Kevin replied. "Seriously. Michael was my grandpa's name, and my dad has the same middle name. So does my brother Andy. Jack and Scott have the middle name David, after my other grandpa. My family's not very creative."

"How'd you get your middle name, Connor?" Naba asked. "Is your grandfather named James?"

"No," Connor rolled his eyes. "My mom was high on her epidural, and she'd been watching an old James Bond movie when she went into labor so she decided it was meant to be." With Arnold's hair now damp and tangle free, he picked up the scissors and slowly, carefully—as if cutting a wire to diffuse a bomb—made the first snip. When all of Arnold's hair didn't spontaneously fall off his head, he relaxed and moved on with more confidence.

"See, at least that's a story, though," Arnold pointed out. "Better than _my parents thought three names was too flashy_ , which is what I'm stuck with." He suddenly brightened. "Hey, maybe I should make Hatimbi my middle name, too!"

"You do that, Arn," Kevin laughed. His book now forgotten, he tossed it onto the coffee table and leaned back further in his seat. "So Naba, tell me about your bachelorette party tonight. What're you doing for your last night as a single lady?"

"We're going to Vegas," Connor chirped happily before Naba could answer, and she rolled her eyes in his direction.

"We are not going to Vegas," she said. "Vegas is six hours away."

"Then we're gonna _**act**_ like we're in Vegas," Connor amended. "We're gonna go clubbing, and hang out with a bunch of strippers, and gamble away all our hopes and dreams."

"We are not doing any of that."

"We should at least do some of it," Connor countered. "I'm sure Brynn and Jami would be on board."

"No, we are not doing _**any**_ of it, because I know what you're up to," Naba said firmly. "All of those places have alcohol. Stop trying to distract your friends so they won't notice if you drink."

Connor paused and lowered the scissors, eyes on Naba. "That's not what I was thinking," he said, not convincing anyone.

Naba held her ground. "No drinking, Connor," she snapped. "I mean it."

"Oh come on. Why the hell not?" Connor sounded borderline whiny, and Kevin hoped he'd never sounded like that back when he was getting over his Adderall addiction. Who was he kidding; he probably did.

"Because I don't want you to turn into a shitshow, Connor," Naba continued. "Need I remind you of all the bad decisions you've made when you're drunk?"

Connor snorted. "You're acting like I ended up in the hospital every other day."

"No, but you did sleep with a guy that kept live possums under his bed."

"Who says I'd even get drunk? One glass wouldn't hurt anything."

" _ **Live possums**_ ," Naba repeated, undeterred, and Connor shrugged.

"To be fair, dead possums probably would've been even weirder," he said.

"There shouldn't have been any possums at all!" she snapped, and her tone clearly indicated she was finished with the conversation. Connor simply sighed and turned back to his work.

"Wait," Arnold said, slow on the uptake. "You were gonna take my fiancée to a strip club for your own personal gain? Not cool, Connor."

"Shut up or I'll give you a mohawk," Connor retorted.

"Oh, can you really do that? That'd be kinda cool, actually!"

Naba snorted at Arnold's giddiness, and then turned back to Kevin. "But to answer your question, Kevin," she said. "We are going out for dinner and also getting tattoos. All of us except Jami, but she'll be there for support."

"Really?" Kevin raised his eyebrows. "That…sounds like kind of a painful party."

"I suppose," Naba giggled. "But it'll be a bonding experience, and I have been wanting one so I figure now is as good a time as any. I am getting a little bird on my ankle." She smiled at him and added, "What about you and Arnold? Tell me about the bachelor party."

"Oh it's gonna be awesome," Kevin said. "Pizza and Netflix pajama night."

Connor grinned. "So basically what you guys do every weekend."

"This isn't just any old pizza party," Arnold countered. "It's the last pizza party. The last night Kev and I will ever have as best friend roomies."

"Stop," Kevin said. "You're gonna get me all worked up."

"I know, I know," Arnold said. "I just want you to know that I'm really gonna miss you, and just because I'm moving out doesn't mean anything. I still love you, buddy."

"Love you too, Arn."

"Good lord, you two sound like you are being forced to get a divorce," Naba said, checking her watch. "I am heading to the tailor now; I will text you later, Arnold. You too, Connor."

They said their goodbyes, and as Naba stepped out the door Kevin yawned once more and stretched. He craned his neck and then did a double-take when he spotted a delicate leather band with purple beads resting on the cushion in Bailey's carrier. Naba's bracelet. He looked over at the guilty dog—currently snoozing on her bed in the corner—and flashed her a look of betrayal. Then once he was sure Arnold and Connor weren't looking, he quickly reached forward and scooped it up. After ensuring it was still perfectly intact, he hastily threw it into Poptart's smaller house and then settled back on the couch.

"How come it always takes so long to cut hair?" Arnold wondered out loud. "It's always kinda time consuming, but it's not like I've got super long hair like Brynn's or anything. Why is hair so hard to cut?"

"I could just take some blunt Crayola scissors to it in ten seconds and leave it at that," Connor pointed out.

"Nah, Naba would kill me. But hey, I've gotta go to the wiz palace. Be right back." He hopped up before Connor could protest and hurried toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a thud. Connor sighed and made his way toward the couch, flopping down beside Kevin and closing his eyes.

"You okay?" Kevin asked.

He opened one eye in response. "Please tell me you have a bottle of vodka in your kitchen somewhere."

Kevin shook his head and reached forward to link his fingers with Connor's. The other opened up both eyes at that, surprised.

"The first few weeks are the hardest," Kevin murmured. "Just keep at it. You're doing great."

Connor shook his head, but nevertheless smiled and gave Kevin's hand a squeeze in return. "Thanks, hon," he said. "If you say so."

"I do say so. Anyhow, tell me about this second tattoo you're getting."

"Third," Connor corrected, and Kevin's brow quirked.

"Third?" He glanced toward the compass rose on Connor's left forearm, the only tattoo he could find. "Where's your second one?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"On my hip. It's a raven. Anyway, I'm trying to decide between two designs. I mean, I want to get both eventually, but I'm not sure which one to start with. So, the first is a tree on my shoulder. Not like all the way down my arm, but basically around this part here." He gestured toward the main part of his shoulder, currently covered by the sleeve of his t-shirt. "Does that make sense?"

Kevin shrugged. "Pretty much. What about the other one?"

"So it would be those heart line things around my right wrist, kind of like a bracelet except—"

"Wait, heart line things?" Kevin frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The things that show a person's heartbeat," Connor explained. When Kevin still looked perplexed, he added, "You know, like if you go to the hospital and they hook that machine up to you and then it beeps and makes the spiky line thing?"

Kevin smirked. "Electrocardiogram?"

"Right, that thing. I want the line that the electrocardiogram makes around my wrist."

Kevin was still grinning as he said, "Great, except the line is the electrocardiogram. The machine itself is called an electrocardiograph."

Connor rolled his eyes. "Oh, whatever. Not all of us are planning to be medical professionals. So, which one should I get?"

Kevin loosened his grip on Connor's hand, thoughtfully stroking the lines on the other's palm with his forefinger. Honestly, he'd never considered himself one to find tattoos attractive, but something about them on Connor…why was he suddenly so keen on seeing what that damn raven looked like?

"I think you should tell the guy that you want a heart line thing around your wrist and see how he interprets it."

Connor snorted and smacked Kevin's arm with his unoccupied hand. "Shut up. Besides, who says the tattoo artist is gonna be a man? Sexist much?"

"True, but a female artist probably wouldn't know what heart line things are, either," Kevin teased.

Connor laughed. "Stop it," he said, linking their fingers together once more. They were quiet for a few seconds after that, smiling shyly at each other, before the sound of a throat clearing cut through the silence.

"Um, guys?" Arnold said, and Kevin nearly leapt out of his skin. He jerked his hand back and turned to see his roommate sitting at the kitchen table once more. When did he even get back from the bathroom?

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," Arnold continued with an awkward, high-pitched laugh. "But my hair's not done yet."

"Right, of course." Connor stood up and hurried back toward the table. "Gotta look sharp for that wedding of yours tomorrow, right?"

Still shaken, Kevin tried his best to portray an attitude of nonchalance. He reached for his book on the coffee table and then glanced casually toward Poptart's carrier. "Hey, isn't that Naba's bracelet?'

* * *

_That Evening_

Arnold flipped open the box of deep pan cheese pizza and pulled out a hefty slice. "Cheese is the greatest invention there ever was," he said happily before taking a huge bite.

"It sure is," Kevin agreed. "And I still can't get over the amazing coupon I found. It's like I won the lottery."

"Um, sure." There were a lot of things Kevin loved that Arnold could get into, but coupon clipping was not one of them. He turned on the Xbox and pulled up Netflix. "What d'you want to watch?"

"How about _Parks and Rec_?"

Arnold made a face. "You always want to watch _Parks and Rec_."

"That's because it's awesome."

"You've seen the whole thing like three times."

"So? How many times have you seen _Star Wars_?" Kevin countered as he picked up a slice of pepperoni and mushroom. "Besides, it's even more relevant now that I'm moving to Indiana. Also, if you and I somehow had a baby, it would grow up to be Ben Wyatt. You know it's true."

"That's probably true. But I want to watch a movie, and it's my bachelor party."

Kevin relented at that. "Fair enough. Pick one out," he said, and Arnold happily began navigating through the selection.

"Hmm, what should we watch?" Arnold mused as he flipped through the titles. "It's gotta be awesome. It's the last movie, after all."

"Hey, come on," Kevin replied. "It's not like we won't see each other again. There'll be tons of movies; I mean, we still have the whole summer before I leave. We'll see each other all the time; I still haven't finished giving you driving lessons, remember?"

Arnold lowered the Xbox controller. "It's gonna go by so fast, though," he pointed out. "And then we're gonna be over a thousand miles apart and you'll be too busy to talk to me, and then when Naba and I move to Bloomington in January you'll tell me that you've found a new best friend—"

"Whoa, hold up. I am not gonna find a new best friend, Kevin assured him. "I mean, sure, hopefully I make some new friends, but no one's gonna replace you. I'll always have room in my life for you."

Arnold tried to let that quell his worries, tried to tell himself that it would be fine. The next several months would pass quickly, and then everything would be perfect; he'd be married to the greatest woman on Earth and living in the same town as his best friend. But there was still one tiny, nagging thought that wouldn't go away.

_What if you try to kill yourself again and I'm not there to help you?_

He tried to push it aside, just for now. This was a supposed to be a happy day, after all. "Thanks, buddy," he said. "Man, I can't believe four years of college flew by so fast. Hey, remember when you got drunk and told that drag queen it was your birthday?" He laughed. "Or that one time you accidentally ate the pot brownie? I can't believe you ate the pot brownie!"

Kevin rolled his eyes, but a small smile played at the corner of his lips. "I didn't know there was pot in it. It didn't taste like plants." he said. "How was I supposed to know pot brownies don't taste like plants? Remember when we moved in here and you decided that since this was your home you didn't have to wear any clothes?"

"Remember when you got mad because someone filled out a tutor evaluation card for you, and they gave you good ratings but then in the comments they wrote, _Dis bitch be basic_?"

Kevin laughed. "Oh yeah," he said. "You know, that still pisses me off. That was the only negative comment anyone ever gave me. Most people loved working with me because of how well I know my stuff."

"Really? I heard a lot of people just wanted to work with you because they thought you were hot. That's why there were usually more girls than guys at our SI sessions."

"You heard that?" Kevin blinked in surprise. "Oh, come on. I doubt anyone actually said that," he added, though Arnold definitely caught a proud, almost preening expression flicker across his face. "Anyway, that stupid eval didn't even make any sense. I'm not basic."

That actually made Arnold giggle, just a little. "Oh come on, Kev. You're the most basic person I know."

"No, I'm not. I have a lot of depth. Like, tons of it."

"Please," Arnold countered. "You _**love**_ Starbucks. You _**love**_ Instagram filters. You listen to Taylor Swift, the queen of the basics. When you tried pumpkin spice latte for the first time it, and I quote, changed your life. What's your favorite season?"

Kevin squirmed as he swallowed a bite of pizza. "Fall."

"Exactly. Basic." He picked up another slice and grinned. "Oh man, remember that time you were making waffles and then your mom called, so Connor decided to finish mixing the batter and he accidentally used baking soda instead of powder? And then you put one on the iron and it came out huge!"

"I was so mad," Kevin chuckled. "Freaking Connor thinking he could help me cook."

There was a barely noticeable look of longing in his eyes as he said Connor's name, and Arnold's mind flashed back to their little moment earlier when they thought he was still in the restroom. "You know, you and Connor are gonna be really far away from your family this fall."

Kevin stiffened, his jaw freezing mid-chew. He quickly swallowed and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?" His voice was tight as he spoke.

Arnold shrugged. "I'm just saying." He knew Kevin could fill in the blanks. _Maybe you can try dating, and then you might find that you like it a lot, and you'll feel more comfortable coming out by the time Christmas comes around. Your mom might not even care. After all, she's dating a fairly liberal professor now._

Kevin stared down at the crumbs on his plate. He was quiet for a long time, long enough for Arnold to start to wonder if he'd somehow broke his best friend. Just when Arnold was about to ask if he was still alive, he spoke.

"Arnold," he said. "I…I really don't want to talk about this."

Arnold sighed. "Okay, I'll drop it. Just answer one quick thing, okay? Have you been talking to your counselor about it?"

"Arnold—"

"Please, bestie. Just answer that and I'll never bring it up again, unless you want me to."

"All right, fine. Yes, I have."

Arnold nodded. "Good," he said. "And you're gonna be seeing a counselor in Bloomington, right? To deal with everything? Because I feel like optometry school would be really stressful, and I—"

"Arnold, calm down. Latoya's referred me to someone, okay? You don't have to worry about me."

Arnold nodded. Kevin would be fine, he had to have faith. It was interesting, really. Everyone else was skeptical when Kevin and Brynn announced they'd be living together, but truth be told Arnold was a little relieved after his initial shock. The two of them fought like cats and dogs, but Brynn had successfully managed Kevin once while he was in crisis mode. In Arnold's mind that was ten times better than Kevin living alone or with a complete stranger.

"You'll call me if it gets bad again, right?"

"Of course," Kevin said. "I'm gonna call you all the time either way, pal."

Fears quelled for now, Arnold pulled him in for a tight hug, which Kevin reciprocated. Then he pulled back, took another huge bite of pizza, and resumed his search for the perfect movie.

"Ah, here we go," he said triumphantly when he spotted it. " _Sharknado 3_. Can't go wrong with flying sharks!" Kevin groaned, and Arnold pushed play with a wicked grin.

* * *

_The Next Day_

There were several other places Connor should've been right now. Naba probably needed help getting ready, or maybe some guest or another needed to be directed into the chapel. Hell, he wasn't even ready yet. But what could he say; he had a thing for weddings, and he had a thing for Kevin, and when Kevin was right there in front of him, tie askew and shirt untucked, his hands in Connor's hair as they furtively kissed in one of the back rooms, how exactly was he supposed to resist?

So he didn't. He tried not to think about the fact that the door didn't appear to have a lock, that anyone could walk right in and see that the two best men were clearly neglecting their jobs, and he

focused entirely on Kevin. He'd gotten better at kissing over the past year, Connor noted. Sure, he was still as tense as ever, but he acted with more instinct and didn't appear to overthink every little move.

"Arnold said something to me last night," Kevin murmured now against Connor's lips, eyes half closed. He pulled back ever so slightly and rested his forehead against Connor's.

"Did he now?" Connor replied. "Care to elaborate?"

"He basically insinuated that you and I should start dating when we move."

Connor pulled back at that, trying really, really hard to keep his face expressionless. "What did you say?"

Kevin shrugged. "I didn't really say anything."

Connor looked away, biting his lip. Shit, why the hell was Kevin bringing this up now? Connor couldn't think about this right now, because he had no idea what turn this conversation could take, and the last thing he needed was to be a hot mess at Naba's wedding. Ugh, why had the two of them even started this today? What were they thinking?

He stepped back and plucked his blue waistcoat from its hanger on the clothes rack. "We need to finish getting ready," he said.

"Connor, I—"

"We can talk about this later," he replied with finality as he put it on. "Naba'll be needing my help soon, and Arnold's probably a mess without you. Now come on, finish getting dressed."

For one short moment, Kevin looked like he was going to protest, but then he simply sighed and tucked his shirt into his pants before reaching for his own identical waistcoat. Connor straightened out his hair and made sure everything was neatly in place, then fastened the boutonniere to his tuxedo jacket before slipping it on. With one final look in the mirror, he turned back to Kevin to find the other already wearing his jacket, struggling to pin the boutonniere in place.

"Give it here," Connor chuckled. He took the little blue flower from Kevin and made quick work of fastening it on his lapel, and then he straightened Kevin's tie and smoothed out his coat.

"There," he said, stepping back to admire his work. "Now you're perfect. You know, I've never seen you in a tux before. Or even a regular suit, really. You never wore your jacket in Uganda."

"None of us did. Except when y'all were getting ready to head back after the mission president shut us down." With a smirk, Kevin added. "Loved the suitcase, by the way."

Connor laughed. "You're probably not gonna believe me, but that actually wasn't mine," he said. "At least not initially. Mine was stolen just like yours."

Kevin let out a _hmm_ sound under his breath as he assessed himself in the mirror. "You're right, I don't believe you," he replied, and Connor raised an eyebrow.

"Honestly, you think my parents, of all people, would send me off on my mission with _**that**_?" he countered. "Anyway, I needed something to bring back the few things I'd collected over those three months, so I bought that old hand-me-down at the market. Figured if I was coming home early and disgraced, I might as well do it with some flair."

Kevin snorted at his use of the word _flair_ , and Connor grinned. "What, you don't have an inner twelve-year-old girl?" he asked.

"Nope," Kevin teased. "Because I'm a grown-ass man. Unlike you, apparently."

"A grown man planning his graduation trip to Disney World," Connor shot back.

Kevin turned back to him, looking almost offended. "Hey now. I said I was an adult, not a soulless fun-sucker," he responded, and Connor smiled and shook his head.

"Whatever you say, hon."

They were quiet for a few seconds, eyeing each other up and down. "You look really good," Kevin murmured.

Connor swallowed. "Thanks. So do you. I mean, you always do, really, and…um…I'm just gonna go now." He promptly darted out of the room before the other could reply, because Kevin looked simply amazing in formalwear, and the last thing Connor needed was a repeat of earlier.

He passed by Brynn and Jami—both decked out in their pretty blue bridesmaid dresses and rushing around on some errand or another—as he walked down the hallway before reaching the little room that had been haphazardly dubbed the bridal suite.

"Knock knock," he said, opening the door just a crack. "Can I come in?" When he heard Naba's affirmative, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

She was standing in front of the full length mirror, simply staring at herself. Her makeup was done but hair still wasn't finished, and her dress was relatively simple—a long, flowing, A-line short-sleeve with a blue band around the waist—but on her it looked absolutely stunning.

"Naba, dear," he gushed. "You look like a princess."

"I don't feel like a princess," she countered. "I feel fucking terrified. I am about to get married in front of all those people; what if I make a fool of myself?"

"You won't," Connor replied as he strode up next to her. "And anyways, it's a pretty small wedding."

"It's still more people than I would like to see me do something stupid. This dumbass bandage on my ankle itches; why did I decided to get a tattoo the night before my wedding day? What if it distracts me and I trip down the aisle or forget what to say? And now my stomach is feeling queasy, so—oh shit." Her eyes widened in horror. "What if I throw up or pass gas? What if I fucking fart in the middle of my own wedding?"

"Naba." It was hard to keep a straight face as he spoke. "I really don't think any of that's actually gonna happen."

"How do you know? This is Arnold and I we are talking about; who knows what stupid shit we could end up doing in the center of attention?"

"You don't have to be worried, hon. You look beautiful, you're in love, you've thought this through—you got this." He picked up her brush and began pulling her coarse hair back into a knot. "Besides, no one can criticize anything you and Arnold do today. You're the stars of the show."

He finished fixing her hair in silence. After he pinned her veil in place he looked up to see her staring at his reflection in the mirror, a small smile quivering on her lips.

"You are so sweet," she said. "How is it possible that you're still single?"

"Because I shoot heroine and I'm hiding a dog-fighting ring in the basement of a Baptist seminary," Connor replied without missing a beat, and Naba burst out laughing.

"Of course; how could I forget?" she said as her laughter died down. Then she turned around and pulled him in for a tight hug.

"I love you, Connor," she murmured.

"I love you too, hon."

Slowly, she turned back around and looked herself over one more time before taking a deep breath.

"Okay, I am ready," she said.

"Let's do this, then," Connor replied brightly. "Time to become Mrs. Nabulungi Hatimbi Cunningham."

She picked up her bouquet and took his arm with a grin, and together they headed out the door and down the hall toward the main chapel.

"It's too bad Baba said he couldn't make it today," she told him. "Even after the Cunninghams—"

"You mean your in-laws?" Connor corrected her playfully. He chuckled as she made a face.

"I guess I need to start calling them by their names," she responded. "It is weird to think of having in-laws; that's such a…grown-up term. Anyway, they offered to pay for the flight but he still couldn't come. I hope everything is okay. I am just glad we will be seeing him in a couple days. But thank you for agreeing to walk me down the aisle. It seemed odd to have Arnold's parents do it—even if they are about to become my in-laws. They have not known me as long as you."

"Hey, it's an honor," he replied. He stopped just as they were about to open the doors to the chapel, where he knew everyone else was waiting in place. "Let's not call it giving you away though, all right?"

"Hell, no."

"Atta girl."

* * *

_Later That Afternoon_

The wedding flew by quicker than Kevin would've guessed. Naba's vows were short and simple but nevertheless heartfelt, while Arnold's were a loud, rambling mess with one too many sci-fi references thrown in. Kevin spotted Arnold's parents squirming uncomfortably when he carried on about how happy he was to become the companion to her time lord, but Naba simply beamed at the sentiment. When the ceremony ended and the two blissfully shared their first kiss as husband and wife, Kevin smiled and clapped along with everyone else, though he couldn't help from cringing just a bit as he leaned over toward Connor.

"Are they supposed to be using tongue right now?" he whispered.

Connor just shrugged. "I dunno. I've never been to a wedding that wasn't in a Mormon temple," he responded.

The reception started out as a rather stuffy affair; despite not being married in the temple or even a Mormon church, Arnold and Naba really didn't want to offend any of his devout family. After the couple's grand entrance there was about half an hour of polite mingling, which Kevin spent catching up with the other elders that were able to make it into town. Next came dinner and toasts. Kevin poured his heart out to the couple as he delivered the speech he'd been planning for weeks, and then Connor spoke and moved several people to tears—which Kevin was only _**slightly**_ bitter about, because really how could he complete with someone who's entire degree was in performance?

Most of the more uptight members of the Cunningham family ducked out shortly after the cake cutting and the couple's first dance, and the party loosened up considerably after that. Now, Kevin was standing off to the side with a champagne flute of sparkling grape juice, watching Connor twirl Brynn around on the dance floor as "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" played over the speakers. His eyes focused in on Connor's pliant hips, transfixed.

"Brynn's kinda hot, isn't she?" Kevin jumped at the sound of Arnold's voice at his shoulder. "Y'know, if you two ever managed to get along, I think you'd make a pretty cute couple."

Kevin wrinkled his nose and took a sip of his juice. "That's the meanest thing you've ever said to me," he replied.

"Is it?" Arnold blinked in feigned confusion. "Oh sorry buddy, I just figured she was the one you were all googly-eyed over since, you know, you've been acting like nothing's going on with you and Connor here in Utah and you were real evasive about how it would go in Blooming—"

"I thought you promised not to bring that up," Kevin bit out before Arnold could even finish the word.

"I know, I know. Sorry," Arnold held his hands up in defeat. "It's just, you were looking at him like he's the only person in the room, and I figured you can't be mad at me at my own wedding so I went for it." He pulled Kevin into a one-armed hug. "Just think about it, okay bestie? Now stop sitting over here like a grumpy Gus and come dance with me."

Kevin drained the last of his juice. "I am not dancing with you."

"Why not?"

"Because the last time you saw me dancing you said I looked like a forty-year-old chaperone trying to look cool at the prom."

Arnold gestured out at the dance floor. "It's a bunch of Mormons at a wedding. Everyone looks like forty-year-old chaperones trying to look cool at the prom." When Connor effortlessly spun and then dipped Brynn, he added, "Except those two. Show-offs."

Kevin glared at Brynn from across the room. "How the hell does she know how to dance?"

"Naba said that her mom made her take classes when she was little."

"Really?" Kevin wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, how come my parents didn't make _**me**_ take dance classes? I hate when she's better than me at something."

"Yeah, but you're better at cooking," Arnold pointed out. "And that's a way cooler skill. How many casseroles can someone make with a sense of rhythm? Zero, that's how many. Now come on, dance with me!" Before Kevin could protest, he added, "You can't say no to me at my own wedding."

Shit. Arnold was gonna milk this day for all it was worth, wasn't he? "Fine," Kevin grumbled. "But only because it's your special day and I'm really happy for you."

It turned out Arnold had horrible timing; just has he was about to drag Kevin out onto the dance floor, the DJ announced it was time for the bouquet toss.

"Oh boy!" Arnold chirped, dancing completely forgotten. "Time to see who's gonna get married next." He took off toward Naba's side, and Kevin grabbed another flute of grape juice before joining Chris and Connor in the crowd surrounding Naba and the girls.

"There you are," Connor said as he spotted Kevin. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then the crowd began counting down from three. On cue, Naba closed her eyes and tossed her beautiful blue bouquet to the crowd of girls and women behind her, and it landed squarely in Jami's arms. She beamed over at Chris, who simply grinned in response.

"So when's the wedding?" Kevin teased Chris, smirking.

"Next month," Chris replied coolly.

Kevin and Connor both laughed, though they quickly died down when it seemed he wasn't joking.

"Wait," Connor said slowly. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, the eighteenth."

Connor opened and closed his mouth several times in shock before finding his voice again. "You're getting married next month and you didn't think to tell me?"

"Whoa, Con, calm down. It's not like what happened with your sister, I swear," Chris quickly amended, placing a hand on Connor's arm. "We literally just picked the date, and our parents are the only ones who know right now. We didn't want to steal Arnold and Naba's thunder, so um, if you two could not say anything until we announce it, that would be great."

"Sure," Kevin agreed. "Congrats, Toaster."

"When did you two get engaged?" Connor prodded. "And how exactly are you gonna plan a wedding in a month? You know how long it took to plan all this?" He waved his hand, gesturing around the banquet hall. "It took…well, I don't remember exactly, but longer than a month."

"It was about a week ago, and ours is gonna be a lot smaller than this. Like, really small." With a joking smile, he added, "We may not even invite Kevin."

Kevin shrugged and took a sip from his glass. "Well fuck you, too."

"Look, I know it seems sudden," Chris went on, ignoring Kevin's quip. "But the timing's right and we love each other, and we want to do this quickly. Everything just sort of fell into place."

"Right. Again, congrats," Kevin told him. "I'm happy for you two."

Connor, however, was eyeing Chris with clear suspicion. "Why exactly do you want to do this so quickly, Toaster?"

Chris's smile faltered just a little under his gaze. "No time like the present, right?"

"Right. Sure. Is Jami pregnant?" Connor blurted out, and Kevin blinked in surprise at his candor. "Are you trying to have this wedding quickly enough that your grandma will assume the baby was just born premature?"

Now Chris was flat-out squirming. "Why would you think—oh look at the time. I have to go…get a drink of water." He took off before Connor could say anything else.

"Christopher Thomas, don't you walk away from me!" Connor snapped before darting after him. Kevin just laughed.

"There you are, bestie!" He turned to find Arnold rushing back toward him. "We've still gotta…hey, what's so funny?"

"I'll tell you later," Kevin replied, still chuckling as Arnold pulled him out toward the dance floor.

A slow song came on after about fifteen minutes and Arnold pulled Naba close to dance, allowing Kevin to duck away once more. He maneuvered through the people off to the side until he spotted Chris and Connor sitting at a table.

"Aren't you worried you might be rushing this?" Connor was asking. "What if you're taking things too quickly, and the baby just causes a bunch of resentment?"

"It might be a little fast, but it feels right," Chris explained. "We actually talked about marriage and stuff before we found out, so you know," he shrugged. "It kind of seemed like the answer."

"As long as you're sure," Connor relented. "But don't you think your grandma will still catch on? Isn't it gonna have to seem like it's about two months premature? That's a lot. And what if the baby _**is**_ a little premature? How are you gonna pull that one off?"

"We'll just act like it's a miracle. Besides, she doesn't keep track of dates very well anymore. I get a birthday card with two dollars in it about every three months."

"True." Suddenly, he broke into a grin. "Oh my God, I'm gonna be an uncle!" he practically squealed. "Have you thought about names? I like the name Noelle, don't you? Are you hoping for a boy or a girl? What about preschools; have you started looking at preschools yet?"

Kevin shook his head and left Chris to deal with the barrage of questions on his own. He chatted with Greg Michaels for about ten minutes and then made his way over to the cake display, grabbing a large slice and taking a seat at a nearby table. By this point, another slow song had come on, and Connor was dancing with Naba while Arnold spoke with a few of his cousins off to the side.

Kevin watched Chris and Jami stare lovingly at each other as they gently swayed out on the floor. He thought back to Arnold and Naba at their first dance, sharing that same look, and stabbed at his cake.

He didn't care for weddings. Even if they were for his best friend.

"Didn't you eat some earlier?" He looked up to see Brynn grabbing a plate, holding her glittery stiletto heels in one hand.

"So?" Kevin shot back after swallowing a bite. "Didn't you?"

"Yep." She then proceeded to plunk down next to him, dropping her shoes in the adjacent seat. "I heard some relative of Arnold's talking about how crazy this wedding is. Crazy, my ass; there's not even a fucking bar. Mormons are so weird."

"I'm surprised you're not used to it by now," Kevin commented. "You live in Utah."

"I've told you before. I live here but I went to boarding school in—"

"California, I know. You still grew up here, though."

"I didn't, actually," Brynn corrected. "We didn't move here until I was sixteen."

"Really?" He stabbed off another bite and thought back to their apartment-hunting trip to Bloomington a couple weeks ago. Brynn's mom—a bright, chipper woman so different from her daughter—had chattered on and on about her house and her garden and her dog, but had never mentioned living anywhere else. "I didn't know that. Where were you before?"

"Lots of places. California, New Jersey, England, Okinawa, Florida—"

"You lived in _**Florida**_?"

"It's not as magical as you think, dumbass," she sneered. "My dad was an officer in the Air Force, so we moved around a lot. That's why my parents started sending me to boarding school; I got tired of changing all the time."

"He passed away, didn't he?" When she nodded, he prodded, "Was he, um…"

"Killed in combat?" she finished. "No. He did two tours of Afghanistan when I was younger, and he went through some rough shit. He made it through all that, but it was an aneurysm while stationed right here in Utah that got him." She let out a dry, humorless laugh, poking at the remainder of her cake with the fork. "Two months before my high school graduation."

That might've explained some of her bitterness. "I'm sorry," Kevin murmured.

She glared at him from the corner of her eye. "If you start acting nice to me now, I'm gonna punch you in the face."

"I never said I was gonna be nice to you. I still hate you; I'm just, well, sorry for your loss."

She sighed. "It was a long time ago," she said. Before Kevin could point out it wasn't _**that**_ long ago, she smiled and added, "You know, if you had seen him, you'd never believe he was my dad. He was six-five, 230 pounds, just this total giant. And look at me." She gestured down to her tiny frame.

"Huh," Kevin pushed his now empty plate aside. "You know, your mom's fairly average height, too. You should marry a short guy in the future, just in case. You have tall genes; you don't want to end up carrying a huge baby."

Brynn snorted. "No way in hell am I having kids," she said. "Or getting married."

He raised his eyebrows. "Never?"

"Who wants to stay with the same person for the rest of their lives? Besides, look at all this," she gestured to the party going on around them. "Could you imagine this being your event? Having to make small talk with all these people? Playing nice with extended family that you couldn't care less about?"

"I would really like that, actually," he replied. "I love my family."

"I love my family too, but that doesn't mean I want to entertain them for hours on end."

He shrugged. Growing up, he knew with absolute certainty that would eventually get married, but he had never given much thought to what his wedding would look like. He assumed it would be just like every other temple wedding he'd attended—beautiful, wholesome, and formulaic. Now he supposed there was much more flexibility in that area. He liked to think it would be in mid-October, at some lovely outdoor venue surrounded by crisp autumn leaves. He'd train Bailey to be the ring bearer, and for their honeymoon perhaps he and Connor could—

Wait, no. He was _**not**_ supposed to be marrying Connor in this fantasy.

To distract himself from that thought, he stood up. "Let's dance," he declared.

She paused with the fork halfway to her mouth. "Why the hell would we do that?"

Thinking quickly, he responded, "To get attention?"

She mulled it over, and gave with a little half-shrug. "Okay," she said after swallowing her last bite. Just don't contaminate me with the stench of your religious upbringing."

* * *

_A Couple Days Later_

Arnold's and Naba's ceremony in Salt Lake had been lovely, Kevin reasoned, but their wedding in Uganda was absolutely beautiful.

It certainly wasn't grand. The gomesi and kanzu that the bride and groom wore were handmade from cheap fabric, and the tent that had been pitched for the occasion looked like it might collapse at any moment. However, there was nothing in the world that could live up to the the sight of practically the entire village gathered around as their bus approached Kitguli, the cheers and hugs that promptly greeted the four of them as they stepped onto the hot soil, or the joyful tears in Naba's and Mafala's eyes as they embraced for the first time in years.

At any rate, despite the poverty in Kitguli, there were still some extravagances. The Cunninghams had given Naba some money for the ceremony, which she'd exchanged at the Kampala airport. As soon as she'd presented the wad of cash to Mafala, he'd handed it to Kimbe and Mutumbo, commanding them to go to the market for "a shitload of food and beer!"

So that brought everyone to where they were now; eating, laughing, and celebrating Naba's and Arnold's union for the second time. Kevin tried not to focus on the deep, hacking coughs Mafala expelled more often than he would've liked, or the tremble in Gotswana's hand that was definitely not there four years ago. He tried to quell his worries and do exactly as the two men in question were doing: putting their troubles aside to enjoy this one happy day.

"Elder Price." Kimbe's voice jarred him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see her and Kalimba holding out large plates with a devilish grin on her face. "You want some nsenene, Elder Price?"

He looked down at the fried grasshoppers with revulsion and a bit of lingering fear. Sure, they had long been dead, but still. They had been alive at one point, jumping and…and _**flying**_. He shuddered at the thought.

"Aw, c'mon Kimbe, it's Kevin now," he said. "And you know how I feel about nsenene _._ " At that, the two women howled with laughter.

"We thought perhaps you changed your mind, being a big shot college graduate now," Kalimba added.

"Nope, still scared of locusts," Kevin replied. He tried not to look down at the plates as he took a bite of his stew. "Did you make this, Kimbe? It's amazing."

Kimbe chuckled. "I did," she said. "And you white boys haven't changed one bit, you know that? All these years, but Elder Cunningham is still a sweet bumbling fool and you and Elder McKinley are still loveable uptight prudes."

"I wouldn't necessarily call Connor an uptight prude."

"Are you shitting me?" Kimbe scoffed. "Just now, Mutumbo offered him a beer, and you should have heard him." She did her best imitation of a typical white American. " _Oh, I really shouldn't, but thank you._ " As soon as she finished, she and Kalimba cackled again.

Kevin frowned. "Mutumbo's offering him beer?" he said. He searched around frantically until he spotted the two over by the opposite side of the tent. "He really shouldn't do that."

"Relax." Kalimba waved a hand and took a swig from her own cup. "Today is a special occasion. It won't hurt him to loosen up now and then—"

"Yes, it would," Kevin replied firmly. "Connor's a recovering alcoholic."

The two women froze in shock after that. "Are you fucking serious?" Kimbe said. "That pasty little thing is a fucking alcoholic?"

"Yep. Oh, and I developed an addiction to Adderall and had to go to the hospital, so I'm not _**that**_ prudish, either."

"White boy, that is not something to brag about."

Kevin winced. "You're right." He stepped closer, Kimbe and Kalimba in tow, and watched with trepidation as Mutumbo held a beer out to Connor once again, saying something about pulling the stick out his ass.

Connor swallowed hard as he stared down at the cup, then glanced furtively around before reaching forward. "Okay, just this one—"

"Connor McKinley, don't you _**dare**_ take that!" Both Kevin and Connor nearly jumped out of their skin as Naba's screech cut through the music coming from the battered boombox. Connor whipped his head around to see her standing right behind him.

"Naba, oh my God, you scared the hell out of me," Connor breathed, clutching a hand to his heart. "Where did you even come from?"

She ignored him, simply snatching the cup from Mutumbo's still outstretched hand and continuing on with her tirade, "This is exactly why I tried to stop Baba from having booze here in the first place! You wait until my back is turned and then—"

"Okay, first of all, your back clearly wasn't turned. Secondly, it's not _**my**_ fault." Connor pointed an accusatory finger at Mutumbo. "He was the one shoving the cup in my face."

Naba's glare snapped over to Mutumbo, and she suddenly began prattling on at him in Swahili a mile a minute. Kevin remembered virtually none of the meager Swahili phrases he'd picked up over the course of his mission, but even if he had, he doubted he would've ever been able to keep up. Whatever she said must have had an impact, though, because Mutumbo's eyebrows shot up and he turned to Connor in surprise.

"You are an alcoholic?" he said. "Are you fucking shitting me? Ah well; it makes sense, I suppose."

Connor narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"A goody two-shoes white boy like you never does anything reckless. It is no wonder you cannot handle your booze. Ow!" He scowled at Naba as she forcefully smacked his arm.

Connor was staring at Mutumbo now with a sense of competitive determination that Kevin had never really seen before. Maybe it was the heat, or the alcohol deprivation messing with Connor's head, who could say. Either way, Kevin was oddly attracted to it.

"For your information Mutumbo, I'm plenty reckless now."

That made Mutumbo laugh out loud. "Of course you are. What did Nabulungi say you are studying to become? A dorm mother?"

Connor pursed his lips. "Residence hall director," he bit out.

"Sounds like a fancy word for dorm mother to me."

"Oh, whatever," Connor snapped. "I've had threesomes before, did you know that? And I fucked a teacher. I tried ecstasy once, and I would've done cocaine if Arnold hadn't stopped me."

Mutumbo waved a hand dismissively. "That is all small shit, white boy," he said. "You are talking to a man who tried to rape a baby."

"Yeah, well, I dated a guy who got arrested for selling Kevin prescription drugs," Connor shot back. "And I didn't bother to tell anyone when he broke parole, and then he died. That's right, he _**died**_."

Beside Kevin, Kimbe rolled her eyes. "I don't know what was worse," she said. "Listening to you lot when you came here babbling on about steak knives and golden plates, or dealing with this shit."

Kevin snorted and stepped forward, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "C'mere, Connor," he said, gesturing past the edge of the tent.

Connor followed him, but not without trying to have the last word. "I have an illegal dog-fighting ring in the basement of a Baptist seminary!" he called back to Mutumbo. He scowled as Mutumbo just laughed in response.

"You don't have a dog-fighting ring," Kevin said as he surveyed the village in the dim light of the moon.

"He doesn't know that," Connor replied. "And you don't, either. I could be smuggling Bailey down there every day, for all you know."

"Don't even joke about that. If you ever took Bailey to a dog-fighting ring, I would straight up murder you," Kevin said with a chuckle. "Anyway, why exactly are you trying to one-up Mutumbo in the bad boy department?"

Connor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't even know," he said. "It's just—ugh, this sober thing is harder than I thought it would be. I need to find a new release. Got any suggestions?"

"Personally, running's always helped me." Kevin offered. "That's why I did cross country in high school.

"Running?" Connor looked over at him, one eyebrow skeptically raised. "Kevin, I'm being serious here."

"Well, then I don't know what to tell you. That's all I've got."

"Hmm." Connor furrowed his brow in mock concentration. "What about stripping? I think I'd make a decent stripper, don't you? And hey, it would supplement my income. As opposed to drinking, which depleted it."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Sure, Con," he deadpanned. "It'll also look hella good on your résumé."

Connor laughed, and together the two of them wandered along the dirt path that wove through the main part of the village. After a few minutes of waking side -by-side in silence, their hands in close proximity, Kevin reached out and linked their fingers together.

"We never did talk about what Arnold said to me at his party," he murmured. Connor didn't reply, choosing instead to stare ahead uncertainly. In response, Kevin pulled him to a halt and gestured to the mud hut on his right.

"Look, this is where it all began," he said.

Connor cocked his head quizzically. "At Gotswana's?"

"Yeah, right by this wall." Kevin led him off the path to stand by the spot in question. "This is where we drunkenly made out, remember?"

Connor looked over at the wall and chuckled. "I'm surprised you remember the details." He stared down at their clasped hands, running his thumb back and forth along the knuckle of Kevin's index finger. "I guess this _**is**_ where it all began. I was into you before that, though."

Kevin grinned. "Yeah? How long before?"

Connor looked up at him and offered a tiny shrug. "Honestly? I kind of had a thing for you the minute I saw you."

That only made Kevin's smirk grow wider. "Did you now?"

"Mmhm." With a mischievous gleam in his eye, Connor pulled away and rested his hands on his hips. "But then you made an ass of yourself, and I thought, _nevermind, he's an idiot_. And then I forgot about you forever."

"Shut up, that is not how that happened," Kevin shot back with a playful scoff. " _ **I**_ made an ass of myself? What about you?" He raised his voice in a shrill, poor imitation of Connor's. " _If it's working better this way, we can just leave Elder Price out of it_."

Connor lifted a hand and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "In my defense, I really wanted some baptisms."

Kevin laughed and reached forward, placing his hands on Connor's waist and pulling him closer. He came forward obligingly, immediately combing his fingers through Kevin's hair. Just as Kevin was about to capture his lips in a kiss, however, Connor sucked a short breath of air through his teeth and shied away.

"What are we doing?" he asked, his nails still lightly running along the back of Kevin's scalp. "Is this going anywhere?"

Kevin wavered. What a loaded question. How exactly was he supposed to respond? "I really like you," he said instead.

Connor smiled and shook his head, one of his hands trailing down to rest on the nape of Kevin's neck. "I really like you, too. But that's not an answer."

"I don't know if if have a better one right now. I just…well, whatever this is, I don't want it to end."

Connor sighed and pulled away. "I'm not gonna be some secret lover you keep on the side. I told you that before, remember?" he replied, crossing his arms and looking straight into Kevin's eyes. "Look, I get that it takes time, but if you want us to be together you're going to have to come out eventually. Do you think you can you do that?"

Could he? Kevin never felt more at peace than he did whenever he was with Connor. The thought of them drifting apart, of watching Connor move on and eventually settle down with someone else, was unbearable. But then again, when Kevin considered them actually, seriously going public…how could being with one person be so comforting yet terrifying at the same time? Coming out in Bloomington, surrounded by strangers save for a few of his closest friends, was possible. He could probably—maybe—do that. But telling his family? Would he ever have the strength for that?

He looked over at Connor helplessly. "I can't promise anything," he said. "But I'm working on it. I'll try. I'm sorry; that's the best I've got right now."

Connor looked away, biting his bottom lip in thought. After a moment, he sighed again and threw himself back into Kevin's arms, pressing their lips together hungrily.

"Damn you, Kevin Price," he breathed against his mouth. "I never have been able say no to you, have I?"

Kevin's only response was a needy little whine before flickering his tongue along Connor's lips. After what could have been only a few seconds or several minutes, they both broke away, foreheads still touching, and looked at each other uncertainly.

"So…what exactly are we now?" Kevin asked. "Are we, um, dating?"

"We could call it that, I suppose," Connor replied. "I mean, if you want to."

Kevin just grinned and pulled him in for another kiss.

* * *

This should have been the happiest day of Naba's life. Even more so than her first wedding ceremony—the one that was actually legal and that granted her a green card so she would no longer be held to her student visa requirements—because here, she was reunited with her father and the people she'd considered family her entire life. And really, it _**was**_ a wonderful day. It just wasn't perfect, because she couldn't help but notice how much weaker her father had become since the last time she'd seen him. There was no denying that he moved slower, that he coughed more than he should, that he had to stop to take a seat and catch his breath every few minutes.

Naba had always known deep down that this was inevitable. She had seen so many people lose their lives to AIDS that of course she understood that Mafala's time would come one day as well. She just always hoped that, against all odds, he would somehow overcome it. Of course, it was a silly idea to hold. No one ever overcame it without proper medicine, and even if he had followed Naba to America and started treatment, the illness still would've been too far advanced for it to have much effect. But even knowing that, Naba still wasn't ready to face this moment.

She had tried discussing his health before the ceremony and he'd brushed her off, saying that she shouldn't worry about such matters before her wedding. But now, Naba couldn't allow him to put it off any longer; she had to know. Thus, she managed to slip away from her party unnoticed and strolled along the main path the village in search of her father. She found him standing by a tall piece of brush outside Gotswana's hut, staring ahead with an amused smile on his face.

"Baba?" she asked quietly, uncertainly.

In response, he gestured ahead. "Has that been going on long?" he asked.

She looked over to see Kevin and Connor making out by the entrance to the hut, oblivious to the rest of the world, and she giggled. "They have been seeing each other on and off for a while now," she explained. "They think they are sneaky." Then she looked up at Mafala, determined to make this conversation happen. "You are going home to rest, aren't you?"

He chuckled and starting back down the path, Naba quickly following. "Do not worry about me," he said. "You should be celebrating."

"I have done plenty of celebrating. Now I would like to speak with you."

"Nabulungi—"

"Baba, please," she persisted. "I did not come here just to drink and dance with everyone at my wedding. I also came to see you."

He paused and looked over at her, and she fixed him with her most stubborn gaze.

"Very well," he sighed. "Come along. I cannot say no to a bride on her wedding day, after all."

They walked along together until they reached Mafala's hut. He tripped on the stumpy little steps up to the entrance, and Naba quickly steadied him by the elbow and helped him through the door.

He had changed some things around since she had left; one of the rickety beds had been given to another villager after her child had been born, and the empty space was now filled with a couple handmade wooden chairs. As soon as they were inside with the door closed, Mafala took a seat on one of them and heaved in a slow, deep gulp of air. Naba settled down on the other, waiting patiently.

"I know what you want to talk about," Mafala said once he caught his breath. "And I will not…what is the phrase? Beat around the bush? I will be honest with you. Nabulungi, I am very sick."

Naba's heart raced even though it was information she already knew. "How sick?" she ventured, afraid for the response.

"I am dying," he clarified, and her heart practically stopped altogether. "I have fought this disease for as long as I can, and now I am going to die."

_No_ , she thought. _No, please, you cannot just give up like this._ "Baba, don't say that—"

"It is the truth, my child. I don't have much time left, I can feel myself getting closer each day." He let out a deep, wet cough and then added, "I am so sorry, Nabulungi, but I do not think I will live to see your graduation."

Her graduation was in December. If he didn't think he could last until then, then it was worse than she'd initially thought. "We must hurry," she said before standing up, voice trembling as she tried to hold back tears. "We must get you you a ticket to America. You can stay with us, and you will be much more comfortable—

"No, Nabulungi," he told her firmly. "I will not leave. This village is my home, and these people are my friends. This is where I lived, and this is where I would like to die."

"Very well, I understand," she relented. "Arnold and I will stay here."

He shook his head. "I was afraid you would say that," he said. "But you cannot do that, love. You have a life in America with responsibilities."

"It will not be a problem," she assured. "We can cancel our tickets. I will defer my last semester if I have to; the school will not mind—"

"No. I don't want you to do that for me."

"But Baba, I—"

"You do not understand, Nabulungi," he cut her off. His voice was too weak to really overpower her, but nevertheless she fell silent. "This life you have in America is the happiest thing that has ever happened to me. Your mother and I wanted everything for our children, and you have done more for yourself than I ever thought possible. I am so very proud of you, child, and I know your mother and brother are looking down from heaven thinking the same."

Another hacking cough, and then he gazed up at the ceiling wistfully. "Your brother, Kiho, we had so little time with him," he said. "You were just a baby when he died, but I know he has as much pride in you as your mother and I. You have done so much for yourself and for this village."

Naba wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing them up and down as she couldn't keep the wetness in her eyes from spilling over any longer.

"Oh Nabulungi, do not cry," Mafala said sympathetically. "You have nothing to be sad about. I have lived a fulfilling life, and I do not fear death."

"How can I _**not**_ cry?" she sniffed and wiped her eyes. "And I have not done much. Arnold was the one who helped our village, and it is only because of him I was able to go to America."

Mafala shook his head. "It was you, Nabulungi. Not Arnold. We looked at him and saw nothing but an idiot white boy. It was you, with your optimism and your strength and your damn stubborn streak"—here he stopped and laughed, and Naba found herself grinning despite her tears. "It was only because of you we ever considered giving him a chance.

"So please, Nabulungi, do not doubt your accomplishments," he continued. "And if you really want to make me happy in my final days, then promise me that you will get on your plane back to Utah, and do not come back. Not for me, at least. Never stop working toward your dreams, and do not put your life on hold for me."

It was so much to ask of her. Mafala was a proud man, and his last wishes did not surprise her in the least. But still, getting on a plane and going home as if nothing had changed…

"Nabulungi," he said again, sensing her doubt. "Can you promise that for me?"

Slowly, she nodded her head, and it was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life. "I promise," she whispered as she fell into her arms, clutching him in a tight hug as tears steamed down her cheeks. "I love you, Baba."

"I love you too, my child," he replied and as he held her tightly in return.

_Two Weeks Later_

Arnold hovered in the entryway to his family's den, watching his wife stare sullenly out the window. She had been standing there for the last half hour, ever since she'd gotten the news. His own heart heavy, Arnold stepped up to her side.

"Connor's on his way over," he said. "He called your phone; I hope it's okay that I answered. He wants to make sure you're doing okay."

Naba only gave the tiniest of nods to indicate she'd heard.

"We can go back if you want," Arnold continued. "Tomorrow. Today, even. I'm sure they'll wait to have the, um, the funeral until we get there."

She shook her head. "I promised him I wouldn't," she said, her voice nothing but a hoarse whisper. "I won't break that now."

Arnold swallowed and nodded, then wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Naba."

She didn't respond, and together they gazed out the window at the little garden in the Cunninghams' backyard. After a few minutes she let out a sniff, and Arnold turned to see tears spilling out her eyes.

"He told me what was happening," she said. "But even so, I didn't think it would be this soon."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arnold asked hollowly.

"It is like I said, I thought there was more time. We just got married and things have been so nice; I didn't want you to be sad, too."

Arnold understood. He understood because he was sad _**now**_ , more than he could've thought possible. He'd just gained a father-and-law who was warm, wise, and so very different from his own father, and now the man was gone far too soon.

"I'm gonna miss him," he said weakly.

"Me too," Naba said with a little hiccup. "I will miss him so much." With that, she buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed. They stood there crying quietly, neither one knowing what to say to make this better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and let me know your thoughts!


	50. Sexy Swimsuit

_**Summer After Graduation** _

**Chapter 50: Sexy Swimsuit**

Kevin stifled a yawn, adjusting his position on the couch as he stared at the television. He really should have been doing something else—the apartment hadn't been vacuumed in a while, for instance, and the counters needed cleaning. But he was grumpy, so he had no intention of going anywhere.

"Watching _Fixer Upper_ makes me feel like I need to move to Texas and buy a rustic farmhouse with a bunch of original shiplap," he commented. "I think Bailey would like living on a farm, don't you?"

"Texas is the rectum of America." Brynn slid down next to Kevin on the sofa, snatching the remote out of his hand and changing the channel. Kevin just rolled his eyes. "How's Naba?"

"She's managing," he replied with a sigh. "I think our trip will be good for her. Get her mind off things."

Brynn nodded. "It really sucks what happened," she said. "Mafala was a good guy." She then looked Kevin up and down and frowned. "Why exactly are you sitting here moping around like you just got dumped? You're going to Orlando in a week. That's basically your wet dream."

He thought about offering some sort of snappy retort, but decided it wasn't worth it. "Arnold moved out," he said flatly, gazing at the Olay commercial on screen.

"Yeah, I know. Because he got married. Are you seriously—"

"And he took Poptart," Kevin added. "He just took my dog away. How exactly is _**that**_ fair? He was my little cuddle buddy, and now he's gone."

"Isn't Poptart Arnold's dog?" Brynn asked.

"No," Kevin quipped. "Okay, maybe technically he is, but might as well be mine, okay? I'm the one who always fed him, and took him on walks, and paid his vet bills. Arnold didn't do any of that. What right does he have to—"

"You _**told**_ him to take Poptart," she pointed out. "You were constantly bitching about what a pain in the ass that dog was. You said you couldn't wait for Arnold to—"

"Yeah, well, I say a lot of things. But I miss that stupid dog, okay? I miss him, and I want him back."

"So ask Arnold if he can give him back to you."

"I can't do that," Kevin said firmly.

"Why? The worst he can do is say no."

"Because then Arnold will know I was wrong."

She snorted. "So? You're wrong all the fucking time. It's not some unusual circumstance—like, say, me being wrong. Which never happens."

"Oh, shut up. I am _**not**_ wrong all the time, and I'm sure as hell not gonna let Arnold know I was wrong this time."

"So you're just gonna sit here and sulk about your dumbass dog?"

"Yes, Brynn. I'm gonna sit here and sulk about my dumbass dog." He turned and shot her a glare. "You're not very empathetic, you know that? This is why you weren't invited on the Orlando trip."

"Naba actually did invite me on the Orlando trip," she replied smugly. "But Disney World isn't my scene."

He raised his eyebrows. "Because you have no concept of fun?"

"Sure, we'll go with that," she said with an eyeroll. "It's not because I don't want to spend my day in a crowded-ass themepark, drenched in sweat and watching you and Connor make out on the fucking teacups. It's because I have no concept of fun."

"I am not gonna be making out with Connor on the teacup ride," Kevin said quickly and perhaps a little too defensively. "Connor has motion-sickness; he's not even gonna want to go on the teacup ride. And why would I be making out with him anywhere? Why would you even think that? I'm not dating him. I'm not even—"

"You're totally dating him."

Kevin opened his mouth to deny it, but then stopped. No, this was fine, he tried to tell himself. This was what was supposed to happen, right? He wasn't supposed to be denying it anymore. Sure, obviously he had no intention of telling his parents yet, or his teachers, or his boss, or anyone else he wasn't comfortable with. And sure, he'd rather not be having this conversation with Brynn DeMarco, of all people, but still. This was fine. Right?

"You haven't told anyone, have you?" he asked.

"Shockingly, your love life isn't one of my go-to conversation pieces," she said dryly. "But I have to ask, are you gonna be able to keep up with him?"

"What do you mean? My goals are just as high as his—higher, even. I'm getting a doctorate, remember? It's not like he's going places I'm not—"

"That's definitely not what I meant," she said.

"Then what did you mean? I'm probably just as fast as him. I did cross-country in high school, and when would that even be an issue, anyway?"

"That's not what I meant, either. Come on, think about it. You're a twenty-five year old virgin and you've probably never even gotten yourself off. And sure, Connor's into some weird shit, but I think he got bored of the whole repressed Mormon thing a long time ago."

Kevin frowned, hung up on only a tiny portion of her words. "What do you mean by weird shit—no, actually, you know what? I'm not gonna indulge you. This conversation is over. Give that back." He snatched the remote out of her hands and flipped the channel back over to HGTV.

Brynn shrugged. "If you say so," she replied before standing up and heading into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

No, he wasn't going to think about it. And he _**definitely**_ wasn't gonna ask about it. He was just going to let it go. He stared firmly at the TV, trying to focus on the big house reveal and not on Brynn's words.

Nope. Still not thinking about it. Not at all. Not even a little bit…

"Brynn?" He stood up and hurried into the kitchen before he could stop himself. "What did you mean by weird?"

"Hmm?" she asked, scooping coffee out of the container and into the filter.

"You said he was into weird shit. What kind of weird? What could he possibly be—"

"Calm down, he's not gonna chain you up in his non-existent sex dungeon," she said with a snicker. "He's just, I don't know, he likes it rough and I get the feeling he'll try anything at least once. Unless it's, y'know, dangerous or horribly degrading or something crazy like that."

Rough and experimental? That didn't sound appealing to Kevin in the slightest. Honestly, Kevin wouldn't complain if he never had sex even once in his lifetime, but if he was going to do the deed, those definitely weren't adjectives he would use to describe his ideal experience.

"Honestly, I don't even know how you like this show," Brynn was saying. He looked over to see that she had settled back down on the couch while the coffee brewed. "Why does every house need a goddamn farmhouse sink? It's two people; if they're filling that sink everyday they've got a problem."

"They said they plan to grow their family, though," Kevin replied numbly, barely even listening as his mind raced.

"So? There's a dishwasher right there; how big a sink does one family really need? And that's another thing: grow their family? Shit, who even talks like that? Is their family a fucking garden?" When Kevin didn't reply, she sighed. "You're freaking out about Connor, aren't you?"

"I'm not freaking out," Kevin snapped. Sure, he was certain that he never wanted to be alone in a bedroom with Connor ever again and that their relationship was doomed before it had even really begun. But that didn't necessarily mean he was _**freaking out**_.

"How is any of this news to you? You didn't suspect he might be a bit kinky after he had a threesome with me? Really?"

"He was drunk."

"He wasn't drunk the whole time he was sleeping with that teacher. Or while he was dating Ira. Come on, did Ira really strike you as the type to be a jar of mayonnaise in bed?"

"Well gee, sorry for not keeping a detailed roster of Connor's sex life so that I could analyze it and come to a thorough conclusion about his preferences."

"Don't worry about it too much. He's not gonna make you do anything you're not comfortable with."

 _No, but he might get bored when I don't give him what he wants_. "I know that."

She sighed. "Look, I didn't bring it up to fuck up what you guys have, okay? I just figured it's something you should think about. Just talk to him if it bothers you."

Right, how exactly would that conversation play out? _Hey Connor, Brynn told me you like to get freaky in the sheets and I'm not into that, so I think we've got compatibility issues_. It would make for a great start to their Orlando trip. "Can we just…move on from this subject?"

"If you say so. Ugh, I hate these people." Kevin followed her gaze to the TV, where another episode had begun playing. "They've outgrown a four-bedroom with one damn kid? Quit hoarding so much shit and suck it up."

"Hey, at least the _Fixer Upper_ couples aren't as bad as the ones on _House Hunters_ ," Kevin replied. "All they ever do is talk about hardwood and granite and entertaining."

"Oh my God, those people are the most annoying assholes. If I somehow ended up on that show, I'd say I want a close-concept house with wall-to-wall carpeting and absolutely no extra room for guests. Just to be different."

"That actually sounds like the perfect house for you," he pointed out. "I could picture you there."

"Right? Who even wants to see their entire family from every angle anyway? That sounds like something your family would want."

"Us?" Kevin shook his head. "Nah, our house is kind of old. We've lived there my whole life and I can't remember any major renovations. Money was tight."

"Really?" She looked over at him, confused. "Isn't your dad an actuary? They make decent money, don't they?"

"Yeah, but he's got six kids. Lots of college funds to think about. And my mom's never had a job before. You know, I'm actually kind of worried about how she's gonna manage with the divorce. She's not getting much spousal support."

Brynn headed back into the kitchen to fetch a cup of the now-finished coffee. "If she ends up marrying Brenner, she'll be fine," she called. "As chair, he's the highest paid professor in the department."

Kevin made a noncommittal noise under his breath. "He did find her a really good lawyer," he said. "My dad fought for full custody of Scott and Katie, but the judge said they have to share."

"The rest of your siblings are adults, right?" she asked, returning to the couch with a steaming cup.

Kevin nodded. "I wish Mom would've tried for full custody, too," he said. "The lawyer probably would've made it happen. He was ruthless. Seriously, you should shadow him sometime."

"Maybe," Brynn said. "Give me his info and I'll look him up."

"I will. Anyway, she wouldn't go for it. Said joint was more fair. It's better than nothing, I guess. Scott's already a lost cause, but if Katie's with my mom half the time, maybe she can keep my dad from turning her against me."

"Turning her against you? What, your family's forming alliances now?"

"Basically. It's pretty much my mom and I versus everyone else, with Katie in the middle."

She took a long sip of her coffee. "That's kind of fucked up."

"Mmhm." Kevin crossed his arms. "It is. And you know what _**else**_ is fucked up? That Arnold took my dog and that you know more about Connor's, um, habits than I do."

Brynn snorted again. "Whatever. I already gave you my advice." She stood up and returned to the kitchen to top off her coffee before heading toward her—previously Arnold's—room. "You can keep sitting there moping if you want; I've got shit to do." Then she shut the door, leaving Kevin on the sofa feeling even crankier than before.

* * *

_That Afternoon_

"Arnold," Naba slammed her pen down on the table in frustration as Poptart leapt straight into her lap for the third time in an hour. "You have got to do something about this dog."

Arnold just shrugged helplessly from his seat on the sofa as he flipped through television channels. "I don't know what to do! He keeps running around and jumping like that. He's crazy!"

"He's restless. Get off your ass and take him for a walk."

"But I just took him on one this morning!"

"Didn't Kevin usually walk him and Bailey about two or three times a day?" Connor took the thank you card Naba had just finished writing and crammed it into the envelope he'd just addressed, then slapped a stamp on it. "Sometimes more on the weekends, if he felt like going to the dog park."

Arnold faltered. "Well yeah, but I thought that was just because Kevin wanted to, not because Poptart needed to. Oh man, he's gotta be walked three times a day!?" He shook his head. "No, that can't be right. Sam only needs to be walked once a day."

"They are different dogs with different personalities." Naba let out a huff of frustration when she lowered Poptart to the ground and he immediately reached out to gnaw at one of the table legs. "No! Bad dog! I mean it, Arnold, take care of him. He's your dog and your responsibility."

"But I don't know how! Kevin always did this stuff."

"Well figure it out!" she cried. "Maybe you should have thought about this before letting Kevin raise your damn dog!"

Arnold opened his mouth to respond, but then simply hung his head and stood up. He hurried over to scoop up Poptart and then returned to his seat with the dog in his lap.

Naba and Connor worked in silence for about a minute, before she sighed. "Arnold, I didn't mean to snap at you," she said.

"No, you're right," he quickly replied. "What was I thinking? I can't raise my own dog. Not one like Poptart, at least. Man, this would be so much easier if we just had Sam."

"Well, you could always ask Kevin to take him back," Connor pointed out, and Arnold looked up at him in alarm.

"What? No!" He frantically shook his head. "Oh, no. No way!"

"Why not? He's not gonna turn you down."

"Because then he'll know he was _**right**_ , Connor. You know how he gets when he's right; it's the worst! You should've heard him before I moved out, carrying on about how tired he is of Poptart and how he can't wait for me to start taking care of my own dog. Sure, he won't say no if I give Poptart back, but he won't be happy about it. And then he'll grumble about it forever! I can hear him now." He raised his voice in an unflattering interpretation of Kevin's. " _This is why I told you not to adopt a dog in the first place, Arnold. I told you it would be too much work. Remember that, Arnold? Remember when I told you that, and you didn't listen_?"

"Well, this isn't about your ego," Naba said. "This is about what's best for us and for Poptart, not to mention your parents' furniture. Ask Kevin to take him back."

"No! We'll figure something else out."

"And what exactly will that be? Besides, I think some of Poptart's behavior is him acting out. He misses Kevin."

"But Naba, I don't—"

"I really don't think he's gonna be as smug as you think," Connor cut him off.

"What do you mean? You know Kevin, you know how he is."

"Yes, but…" Connor sighed. "Okay, look, he'd be pissed if he knew I was telling you this, so keep your mouth shut. But he was whining to me the other day about how much he misses Poptart. And Brynn said he was complaining to her about it today, too."

Arnold blinked. "Really?"

"Yes. So anyway, if you just ask him if he wants to take the dog back, you shouldn't have any issues. He might try to act like it's an inconvenience at first just to keep up appearances, but he'll drop it soon enough and then—"

"Are you kidding? Oh, this is perfect!" Arnold gleefully rubbed his hands together. "I'm not gonna ask him, I'll make him ask _**me**_. You know how rare this is? For once, he's gonna be the one who has to come crawling to me, and I'm gonna be all, _Well gee I don't know, Kevin; I just don't know. After all, he is my dog and therefore my responsibility_ —

Naba slammed her pen back down once more and gave Arnold one of her fiercest scowls. "For God's sake, Arnold, just ask Kevin to take the stupid dog back!"

"Okay, okay," Arnold quickly relented. "Geez."

Another minute of awkward silence passed, before Connor tried to lighten the mood. "So," he began, voice chipper as he tossed another envelope into the finished pile. "How many of these do we have left?"

"We are about halfway finished," Naba replied, and Connor raised an eyebrow.

"Really, that's all we've done? How many gifts did y'all get?

"Hush. It's my special day."

"Your special day ended a while ago."

"Not for you, Mr. Best Man," she shot back with a smirk. "Besides, I will return the favor when you get married."

Connor let out an amused snort. "When _**I**_ get married? I don't think that's ever gonna happen, sweetie."

"Don't be silly, of course it will. One day you and Kevin will have the most beautiful wedding, I just know it."

The very thought of one day marrying Kevin, no matter how remote the possibility, made Connor's stomach flutter ever so slightly, and he smiled at the sentiment. Before he could reply though, Arnold chimed in.

"Wait, so you and Kevin are, like, dating now?" he said. "That's awesome! Good for you guys. Man, I knew you both were, um…well, sneaking around and all, but now it's official! Now we can go on double dates and stuff!"

"I'm not sure if I'd call it official, per se, but…" Connor slowly drifted off, narrowing his eyes. "Wait. He didn't tell you?"

"Nope!" Arnold's face was as bright and innocent as ever.

Connor didn't know what to think. Of course, he knew that coming out was going to be a long and difficult process for Kevin, but he hadn't even told _**Arnold**_? His own best friend? The most accepting, loving, and carefree person either of them knew?

Naba obviously sensed his discomfort and looked over at Arnold with a cheery smile that was a bit too forced for Connor's liking. "Oh, I'm sure he was planning to tell you very soon, honey," she said. "Everything is happening so fast, and he knows how busy we have been. In the meantime, don't say anything to anyone else, okay? It is his news to tell."

Arnold nodded. "Right. That makes sense. But anyway, that's so cool! Congrats, Connor; I've been rooting for you two."

"Thanks." Connor's own smile was even more strained than Naba's, but nevertheless he kept it plastered on his face, hoping Arnold would remain perfectly oblivious.

* * *

_The Next Day_

"Geez, slow down." Arnold held the leash firm as Poptart raced toward his old home. "You've really missed Kevin, haven't you?"

Once they reached the right door, Arnold took a deep breath and braced himself. He still hated this. Why did he have to be the one to come grovelling to his friend? Why couldn't Naba or Connor have done this instead?

Oh well, best to get it over with. He gave the door a few firm knocks.

After a few seconds, Kevin opened up. "Hey," he said, glancing at his watch. "You're early. Like, hours early." When Poptart began hopping up and down by his feet, he blinked in surprise and took in the whole scene in front of him. "Where's Naba? And why do you have Poptart?"

"Oh, I'm not here to do all the last minute stuff for the trip. I mean, I know we're doing that this evening, and I'll be back, I swear! I didn't forget. But, um, I was wondering if you could take Poptart back?" Kevin just stared at him with disdain, but Arnold held his ground. "See, the thing is, he's a lot of work, and—"

"And now you want to just toss him off on me," Kevin finished flatly. "Because you didn't listen when I told you that owning a dog was an actual responsibility."

Well, two could play that game. Arnold sighed and turned back around, tugging gently on the leash. "You're right. I'm sorry. I need to just man up and learn to care for him on my—"

"Wait!" Arnold slowly turn back around at Kevin's hasty outburst, slyly watching as Kevin shifted his weight from one foot to the other and crossed his arms. "I didn't say I wouldn't take him."

"Really?" Arnold widened his eyes, willing his face to look perfectly contrite. "You will?"

"I guess I have to, don't I?" Kevin quipped. "What kind of person would I be if I trusted you with him after you basically dumped him off on my doorstep?"

Arnold ignored the gross exaggeration and handed over the leash. "Gee, thanks buddy. Sorry about this. I'll bring over the rest of his stuff this evening, okay?"

"Sure," Kevin replied, voice still dripping with condescension as he led Poptart inside. "Well, see you later."

He then proceeded to shut the door right in Arnold's face. Arnold was about to be offended—that is, until he heard his friend's giddy voice through the door.

"Yes! You're back," Kevin cried out gleefully, amidst Poptart's happy yips. "You're all mine now, just as it should be! All mine! I _**love**_ you, Mr. Poptart!"

"Ha!" Arnold pushed the door back open to reveal Kevin frozen in place, holding Popart and in the middle of peppering kisses on his snout. "I _**knew**_ you secretly wanted him!"

Kevin stared daggers at Arnold with a weird possessive look in his eye. "You can't have him back," he snapped.

"What? I didn't say I wanted him back, I just—"

"No takesies-backsies!" Kevin then shut the door once more, locking it this time. Through the wood, Arnold heard him call out, "Bailey, look who's back! It's your Poptart!" Arnold just shook his head and started back toward the parking lot.

And people thought Arnold was the weird one.

* * *

_Three Days Later_

"Seriously? Never?"

Kevin rubbed his eyes and took a gulp of his latte before meeting Connor's disbelieving gaze. Normally he'd be far more annoyed at being out and about at 6:30 in the morning, but considering they were at the airport waiting to board a plane to Orlando, he really couldn't complain.

"No," he replied coolly. "Never."

Connor's expression didn't change. "You've honestly never gotten a traffic ticket before?"

"No, I really haven't. Why is that so hard to believe?" Kevin watched Arnold and Naba idle at the bakery, wondering what exactly was taking them so long. "What about you? Any tickets on your record?"

"Yep. Two, actually; once when I was seventeen and another about a year ago."

Kevin snickered. "But I thought you were a decent driver."

"You don't have to be a bad driver to get a ticket, Kev," he retorted, to which Kevin just smirked. "Come on, surely you've at least been pulled over."

"Only once, for a rolling stop a couple months ago. But I talked my way out of a ticket, 'cause I'm just that good."

"You talked your way out of a ticket?" Connor quirked an eyebrow. "I doubt you talked your way out of anything. The cop probably just felt sorry for your pathetic ass."

Kevin grinned. "Whatever. You're just jealous of my clean driving record." He took another sip of his latte and then stared glumly at the Seattle's Best Coffee logo on the cup. "This is why I wanted to fly Delta," he said.

Connor laughed. "So you said, sweetie. And as _**I**_ said, Southwest is cheaper and we're on a budget."

"But Delta's in Terminal Two. And you know what else is in Terminal Two?"

Connor rolled his eyes, picking at the remnants of his bagel. "Starbucks, I know. Honestly, I don't get it. How are you not sick of that place by now? Come August when I finish my last shift at Olive Garden, I never want to set foot in that place again."

"Really? I thought you didn't mind it there. Your boss has always worked around your schedule, and she's been really good about not placing you at the bar ever since you quit drinking."

"That's true," Connor admitted. "Doesn't mean I'm not sick of smelling their food, though."

Kevin honestly didn't understand how anyone could get tired of smelling breadsticks, but it wasn't worth questioning. "So I take it you won't be transferring to the one in Bloomington?"

"Couldn't even if I wanted to. No work outside my assistantship; it's in my contract," Connor said. "You planning to keep up the barista gig?"

"Hell yeah. I need my discount. Did you know they give me a free pound of coffee every week?"

Connor just chuckled and set the trash from his breakfast aside, then reached forward and took Kevin's hand in his own, running his thumb along Kevin's knuckles. He look conflicted, like there was something he really wanted to say but wasn't sure where to start. What could he possibly have to be worried about? Kevin was the one with doubts about this whole thing, not Connor—wait, unless he was starting to realize just how incompatible they were as well. _Shit_ , he thought. _Please don't break up with me in the middle of the airport. Please,_ **please** _do not_ —

"We're back!" Kevin pulled away and looked over to see Arnold approaching with Naba in tow. He plunked down next to Kevin and opened up a large bag of donuts. "I was couldn't decide between eight different kinds, so I bought them all. Airport donuts are expensive, by the way! Did you know that? It's probably worth it though. Here, buddy." He pulled out one covered in a brown glaze and held it out to Kevin tantalizingly, a wicked grin on his face. "Want this maple one? Just like old times."

Kevin glared, but nevertheless grabbed the donut and took a large bite.

Arnold chuckled at his behavior, and then he reached across Kevin to hold the bag out toward Connor. "What about you, Connor?" he asked "Now that your theatre dreams are dead and you don't have to stay fit anymore—and, y'know, all your empty calories aren't going to booze—you can have all the donuts you want!"

Connor just eyed him, bemused, as he took a drink of his juice. "First of all," he began. "I may not be planning to go to Broadway, but that doesn't mean I'll never do theatre again. Secondly, I don't want your donuts."

"Really? None of them?" Arnold stared at him, eyes wide in surprise. "Huh. Oh well, suit yourself."

He then held the bag out to Naba, who pulled out something sugar-coated and stuffed with jelly, before he reached in himself. After several seconds of silence, save for the crinkling of paper as Arnold rifled through the bag, Connor spoke up once more.

"Actually, that's not true," he admitted. "I lied. I want that chocolate one with the sprinkles you were holding just now."

With another grin, Arnold handed the treat over. Naba rolled her eyes at their antics and turned to Kevin.

"So how are you feeling, Kevin?" she asked. "Are you sure it's going to live up to your expectations?"

Kevin frowned and swallowed his last bite. "Huh?"

"Orlando," she clarified. "Do you think it will be as amazing as you remembered?"

Kevin beamed. "Of course it will," he insisted. "How could it _**not**_ be?"

She shrugged, wiping her hands on a napkin. "Well, you are not nine years old anymore."

"How dare you," Kevin deadpanned. "For your information, I will _**always**_ be nine."

"Really?" Arnold asked, eyes wide. "Even when you finally have the sex?" When everyone looked over at him, puzzled, he added, "I mean, think about it! Your sex person's probably gonna feel a little gross if you say you're nine. And what about when you have kids? It's gonna be weird when your kid's like, forty-two and you're still nine."

Beside him, Connor was snickering under his breath. Kevin let out a huff and said, "I meant nine at heart, okay? Of course I don't actually think I'm still a child." When Connor continued to laugh, a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, Kevin snapped, " _ **What**_ is so funny?"

It took Connor a few seconds before he could stop laughing enough to get the words out. "Sex person," he finally repeated. "Oh my God, Arnold, I love you."

Kevin rolled his eyes and stood up when he heard their flight number over the loudspeaker. "Come on, our plane's at the gate."

* * *

_That Afternoon_

Connor should have taken Kevin's earlier sentiment a little more seriously. He really was a child.

First, he'd insisted that he was way too excited to sleep on the plane, and then proceeded to slump over sound asleep on Connor's shoulder a mere ten minutes later. Now that they were off the plane and were safely settled in an Uber heading along the freeway toward their hotel, Kevin was bouncing in his seat and gazing out the window like he'd found paradise.

"Oh boy, oh boy, I can't believe we're actually here!" he cried. "It's perfect; just like I remembered! See what I meant, guys? Isn't it the most amazing place you've ever seen?"

Honestly, it was just like any other American city Connor had ever been to, albeit with about twice as much humidity. But he wasn't about to rain on Kevin's parade. "Sure Kev; it's great."

"It's more than great. It's the best!" If the window had been rolled down, Kevin probably would've been sticking his head outside like a dog. "Just look at it out there! Orlando trees, Orlando skies, Orlando sidewalks…Orlando Kentucky Fried Chicken—oh my God, I bet that's totally better than regular KFC, don't you think?"

Connor exchanged bemused glances with Arnold and Naba and then caught the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror. To her credit, she seemed indifferent to Kevin's behavior.

Once they reached their hotel, a Holiday Inn in the general vicinity of Disney World and Universal, Kevin finally grew a little more subdued. He stood quietly beside Arnold and Naba as Connor checked them in, and then let out a little sigh as they headed toward the elevator.

"It looks like basically any other Holiday Inn," he said.

"But it's so much better, right?" Naba pointed out with a little smirk. "Because it's in Orlando."

"That's definitely true," Kevin replied as the elevator doors opened and they made their way inside, Connor pushing the button for their floor. "But you know what would've been even better? One of the Disney hotels."

Connor shook his head. "We went over this, remember, hon?" he said. "You saw the prices. The only one we could afford was the stupid camping one, and no one wanted to do that, including you."

"Wait, there was a camping option?" Arnold's eyes widened. "Aw, man, I would've liked the camping!"

"Really, Arnold?" Connor replied. "You wanted to buy a bunch of camping crap, haul it on the plane, and pay to sleep in tents in the middle of summer? In _**Florida**_?"

"Sure!" The elevator stopped with a ding, opening up to their floor. "It would be an adventure! I've never been; my parents never took me camping as a kid."

Connor raised his eyebrows at that, turning to face him quizzically as they headed down the hallway. "Never?"

"Nope! Never."

"Well trust me, you wouldn't like it," Kevin said. "It's not worth it, not even Disney camping. Take it from me, I was an Eagle Scout. I know more about camping than anyone else here."

For a split second, Connor considered calling him out on his arrogance, but instead he simply added, "We can go camping sometime if you really want to, Arnold. Maybe after you move to Indiana." He stopped at their door and slid the key card into the lock. "Just not here; it's too hot and humid for that. Plus Florida's got those giant flying roaches, and with all the lakes and ponds around here there's probably a lot of them this time of year—"

"What are you talking about?" Kevin cut him off with a laugh, setting his suitcase down next to one of the beds. "There aren't any giant roaches in Orlando."

"Of course there are," Connor corrected him, setting his own suitcase next to Kevin's. "They're called palmetto bugs, and they're all over the whole state."

"Since when? I didn't see any when I was nine."

"Since prehistoric times, probably." Connor rolled his eyes, and then dropped his voice to mimic Kevin's. "Take it from me, my dad was an exterminator. I know more about roaches than anyone else here."

"Okay, okay, fine," Kevin huffed. "Orlando's got gross bugs, whatever. But they wouldn't be on Disney property."

Connor squinted his eyes at him, puzzled. "How would they keep them all out?" he said.

"I don't know. I'm sure they have their ways."

"Like what? Those things can get practically anywhere, and spraying can only do so much, especially with how much open land they have…wait, you don't think Disney magic is actually real, do you?"

Kevin glared at him. "Ha ha. No, of course I don't think it's actually real."

Connor grinned. "Then what exactly do they do?" he teased. "Maybe they round them all up and fit them with tiny, tiny shock collars that activate right as they cross over property lines—"

"Boys!" They both turned at the sound of Naba's voice to find her and Arnold staring out the window. "Quit arguing about stupid shit. Come look at this view!"

They made their way over to find the two newlyweds gazing out at the pool down below. Connor couldn't care less, but upon seeing it Kevin's prior glee immediately returned.

"Awesome," he said. "It looks almost just like the one at our hotel when I was nine."

"Oh man, and there's no one out there! Let's go swimming; we'll have it all to ourselves!" Arnold dashed over to his suitcase and quickly opened it up. "It'll give me a chance to break out my new swimsuit!" For some reason, Naba giggled at that.

"Sounds good to me," Kevin said. He and Naba both began rifling through their own suitcases, leaving Connor standing there, uncertain. After a moment, Naba looked over at him and frowned.

"Do you not want to swim, Connor?"

He hesitated, considering his words carefully. All these years, Connor had never _**intentionally**_ hid the fact that he didn't know how to swim—it had just never come up. None of them had swimming pools, and obviously it wasn't a popular activity in Kitguli. What would they say if he told them now? Arnold probably wouldn't care, Naba would wonder why he didn't think to learn before going to Florida, of all places, and Kevin would probably laugh at him before insisting he teach him right this instant so Connor could get the "full Orlando experience," or something along those lines.

No, better to just keep that bit of information to himself for now. "I think I'll just stay in and rest for a bit," he said instead. "You all go on; have fun."

She cocked her head. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Swimming's not really my thing. But don't let that stop you; I might come down after a while and read or something."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, before heading into the bathroom with Arnold to get changed.

Now that he and Kevin were alone together, Connor didn't quite know what to do. Honestly, he'd been itching to pin Kevin to the wall and make out with him all day, but now probably wasn't the time, given that Arnold and Naba could come back in at any minute. Not to mention that if Kevin didn't even feel inclined to tell Arnold that they were kinda-sorta-dating, he probably wouldn't take well to Arnold seeing him kiss another boy. Connor still wasn't exactly sure how to bring up that little piece of information with him.

Plus, Kevin had been acting…well, weird around him lately. Not drastically so, but he seemed just a little more hesitant; distant, even. Were they taking this too quickly? But how? They were already moving at a glacial pace. Was Connor even capable of going slower?

His internal conflict must have been showing on his face, because Kevin was eyeing him curiously. At a loss, Connor let out an awkward cough and rubbed his neck.

"So," he said. "Uh, how about that Denver layover?"

Kevin tilted his head, puzzled. Before he could say anything the bathroom door opened and he glanced over. He widened his eyes, a look of horror washing over his face. "Good Lord, Arnold; what on Earth are you wearing?" he sputtered.

Connor turned around and slapped a hand over his mouth to hide his shock and laughter as he spotted Arnold standing proudly outside the bathroom door wearing nothing but a tiny, bright red speedo.

"Like it?" he proclaimed. "Naba got it for me. It's my sexy swimsuit!"

Kevin was staring at his friend with his mouth hanging open, looking slightly repulsed but mostly just stunned into complete silence. Connor decided to help him out.

"Arnold," he began carefully. "Don't you think it might be more…um, romantic, I guess…if Naba were the _**only**_ one to see you in that?"

Arnold wrinkled his brow, perplexed. "And not show it off to anyone else? Why would I do that?"

Kevin finally found his voice. "My underwear covers more than that thing," he stated.

"Well no, duh," Arnold shot back. "You wear boxers."

"You know what I mean," Kevin persisted. " _ **Any**_ underwear would cover more than that. Hell, you could put on a pair of women's underwear and it would still be less revealing."

"How would you know? Have you ever seen a pair of women's underwear?" Kevin opened his mouth, but Arnold quickly added, "In person and on someone, Kev. On TV or in the store doesn't count."

"Well no, I've never actually seen anyone wearing nothing but women's underwear, but still—"

"See? You don't know that for sure."

"He's right, though," Connor pointed out. "Well, partially right. Depends on the type of underwear." When Kevin and Arnold both glanced at him and then back at each other in confusion, he shrugged. "What? Ira may have been kind of into that."

"Wait, wait." Arnold fixed his gaze on Connor, intrigued. "Did Ira wear women's underwear, or did he make _**you**_ wear it?"

"Does it matter?" Kevin said tightly, crossing his arms.

"Yes," Arnold replied simply. "Yes it does." He stared back at Connor, unfazed.

Connor faltered. He probably never should have brought it up, but too late for that now. "Um, I wore it," he replied. "On occasion." Beside him, Kevin swallowed and shifted his eyes, an indiscernible expression on his face.

Arnold nodded solemnly. "You wore the women's underwear for him…and now he's dead."

Connor just sighed. "That's true, I suppose, but those two statements aren't really related, Arn."

Naba came out before Arnold could reply, straightening out her bikini as she walked. She took one look at Arnold and just snickered once more.

"Naba," Kevin pleaded. "Make him change. You're his wife; he has to listen to you."

She chuckled and shrugged. "Let him wear it just this once. He really wanted it, and we aren't getting a honeymoon; after all. Let him have his fun."

Kevin narrowed his eyes. "Don't try to pull the no-honeymoon sympathy card on me," he said. "Arnold told me his parents are sending you to the Bahamas for your one-year anniversary."

"That's still not a honeymoon," Arnold said. "Looks like it's sexy swimsuit one, Kevin zero. Aww yeah! Time to go swimming."

He hurried out the door with Naba in tow. Kevin just let out a bemused huff and headed toward the bathroom to change. Connor stopped him before he shut the door, grabbing two towels off the rack and heading into the hallway.

"Hey," he called, stopping Arnold and Naba in their tracks. He tossed the towels at them and said, "At least cover yourselves up a little before wandering all over the hotel, crazies."

He stepped back into the room amidst their giggles and turned to face Kevin. They stared at each other for a couple seconds before dissolving into fits of laughter.

"I can't believe she bought him that thing," Kevin said.

"I know," Connor responded. "I don't know whether to be embarrassed for him or admire his confidence."

"I'm gonna go with both." Kevin straightened up and nodded toward the bathroom. "Do you need in there before I change?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay, I'll just be a minute—"

Ah, hell with it. He'd been waiting long enough. "Hold on." Connor grabbed his wrist before he could head back inside and backed him up against the wall, then kissed him hungrily.

Kevin let out a little gasp of surprise, but then his eyes slid shut and he wrapped his arms around Connor's waist, letting the swim trunks and t-shirt in his hands fall to the floor.

They kissed for a few seconds before Kevin pulled back a mere fraction of an inch, a small smile playing on his lips. "I don't remember this being a part of the Orlando experience when I was nine," he said.

Connor snorted and gave him a playful nudge, "Dork," he said.

Kevin grinned and looked over at the window. "I probably need to get ready and meet them down there."

"Why the rush? The pool isn't going anywhere."

Kevin's eyes met briefly Connor's before flickering down to his mischievous smirk. "Good point," he said with a shrug, leaning forward and locking their lips once more.

* * *

"Woohoo!" Arnold did yet another cannonball into the deep end of the pool, creating a splash that sent a ripple throughout a decent chunk of the water. His head surfaced and he pushed his wet mop of curls out of his face, then looked up at the others. "How was that? Bigger or smaller than last time?"

Having been doused one too many times, Kevin and Naba had learned their lesson and were lingering over in the shallow end. "About the same," Kevin said with a shrug.

"Dang it," Arnold immediately began paddling back over to the ladder. "Just you wait, I'm gonna make a huge splash this time!"

Kevin sighed and looked over at Naba. "Okay, this time, we say it was gigantic, no matter what," he whispered. "I'm tired of this."

"Why?" she asked. "What difference does it make to you if he does canon balls?"

"I don't what the force of him hitting the water to send that speedo flying."

She clasped a hand to her mouth as she giggled. "That would be awful," she said. "But I don't think it will happen; he cannot run very quickly or jump very high."

"Why did you even buy him that?" Kevin asked, and she blushed.

"I didn't think he would wear it in public. It was supposed to be for…other things."

Kevin wrinkled his nose and tried to quash the horrifying image that popped up in his brain. "Well he _**is**_ wearing it in public" he said, sending a playful splash in Naba's direction.

She winced and wiped the water out of her eyes, then shot another, slightly larger splash back at him. "And as I said earlier, let him have his fun. After all, _**you**_ clearly had _**your**_ fun earlier."

He frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. It took you an awful long time to get changed and come down here, that's all."

Kevin felt his face get hot. Did she think he and Connor had been…"What're you talking about? We weren't even—"

The sound of Arnold plummeting into the water diverted both of their attention. "What about that one?" Arnold said once he was upright.

"Awesome!" Kevin lied. "That was a crazy huge splash. Your biggest one yet."

Arnold squinted at him doubtfully. "I don't believe you, bestie," he said. "I'm gonna try again." Kevin rolled his eyes as Arnold made his way back over to the ladder.

"You don't have to lie, Kevin," Naba said, clearly not willing to let this go. "I know you and Connor were at least making out up there."

Kevin felt his breath hitch, a lump forming in his throat. Naba knew about them. Of course she knew; she'd probably suspected for a while, and Connor had no doubt confirmed it. She was his closest friend, after all, and he wasn't a hot mess of a closet case like Kevin. No, Connor could actually talk about this with other people on his own terms; he didn't have to deal with people throwing it in his face after they put the pieces of the puzzle together themselves.

"Kevin." he snapped out of his reverie and looked back at Naba who was eyeing him with a guilty expression. "It's okay. I'm sorry; I should not have brought it up."

He swallowed and cleared his throat. "No, it's fine," he said. "But just so you know, we didn't…um…"

"Have sex?" she finished with a smirk, and he squirmed uncomfortably. "I figured. You weren't gone _**that**_ long."

"Hey wifey, bestie, check it out!" Kevin had never been so grateful to hear Arnold's voice. He looked over to see him standing by the edge of the pool holding a beach ball. "I found it in the bushes. Someone must've left it behind. Or maybe it belongs to the hotel!" He attempted to toss it at Kevin, but missed by a long shot and it landed with a soft thud in the water.

"Party pooper. You were supposed to try and catch it," Arnold said with a pout, before hurrying into the water and latching onto the ball. "I'm gonna see how far I can push this thing underwater."

Kevin and Naba watched as he pushed the ball back over to the deep end and heaved it downward, submerging himself in the process.

"I wish I could be as carefree as him," Kevin remarked.

Naba made a little noise of agreement and then added, "You could, you know. You worry about a lot of things that you do not have to."

"Now you sound like my mom," he replied. "And my teachers. And my counselor. And the doctor I have to see every time my Zoloft prescription expires."

Naba creased her brow just a little, but then the latch on one of the gates opened with a clank before she could respond, and they both turned to see Connor approaching the pool with a paperback in hand. They quickly swam up toward the deep end to greet him.

"Hey, there." Kevin rested his arms on the ledge, looking up at Connor.

"Hi guys," Connor chirped. "How's it—"

Suddenly, the ball that Arnold had been holding down flew up out of the pool near the edge, knocking the book straight out of Connor's hand. Kevin and Naba both blinked in surprise, watching it land in the water.

Connor just stared down at the soaked paperback with a blank, unimpressed look before shifting his focus to Arnold, who had resurfaced and was shaking water droplets and hair out of his eyes.

"Really?" Connor deadpanned.

Arnold glanced first at Connor and then down at the book, floating pitifully in the water. "Oops. Sorry, man."

Connor sighed. "It wasn't that good, anyway," he said as he crouched down and scooped it up, then tossed it on the ledge.

"Well now that you have nothing to read, you should go change and then join us," Naba said. "The water feels perfect."

"Thanks, but I didn't even bring any swim trunks," Connor said with a dismissive wave.

"Really? You didn't bring any on vacation to Florida? Well just wear shorts. No one will know."

"Honestly, Naba, I'm fine," Connor's eye twitched ever so subtly, which Kevin found odd.

"Aww, come on, Connor! Swim with us!" Arnold said, before retrieving the beach ball and throwing it at Connor.

Connor actually flinched away from the ball, and it landed pathetically behind him. He must've been a sight to see in high school gym classes, Kevin mused. He probably hated dodge ball.

"Guys, I told you, swimming isn't my thing." Connor turned around and picked up the ball, then tossed it back into the water.

Arnold let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Fine," he huffed. "Oh hey, Connor, do you have your phone on you? What time is it?"

Connor shook his head. "I left it up in the room. Clock said 6:12 when I left, though.

Arnold nodded. "Cool," he said casually—perhaps a bit too casually, Kevin decided suspiciously. "I'm gonna go relax on one of those chair things."

Kevin warily watched him climb up the ladder and head over to the lounge chairs, but then Connor spoke and diverted his attention. "So, what time are we heading to Magic Kingdom tomorrow?"

"As early as possible," Kevin shot back, and Connor grinned.

"Really? Think you'll be able to drag yourself out of bed for that?"

"Oh, shut up. I can get up early for Disney World. I did it today, right?"

He didn't hear Connor's response, because a flash of red in the background suddenly caught Kevin's attention, and he spotted Arnold crouching a few yards behind Connor like a lion ready to pounce on its prey, with a devious grin on his face. His eyes then landed on Kevin, and Kevin raised his eyebrows.

Arnold put a finger to his mouth and tilted his head toward Connor, making a pushing motion with his hands. Kevin pursed his lips, unsure whether he should call him out or just let him have his fun. Probably not the best idea, he decided. He opened his mouth only to find that he was too late; Arnold had already lurched forward and launched himself at Connor, sending them both straight into the water with a huge splash. Kevin and Naba both shielded themselves from the water cascading in their direction.

"Arnold," Kevin groaned when Arnold triumphantly resurfaced. "Why did you do that?"

"What?" Arnold asked. "He was being a killjoy. And hey, I made sure he didn't have his phone on him."

Kevin was about to shoot back another retort, but then he realized Connor was flailing helplessly in the water, thrashing his arms and struggling to stay afloat to no avail.

"I…I don't think he can swim," Naba said tensely. Beside them, Arnold immediately blanched

Kevin quickly kicked off the wall and hurried over to Connor's side, grabbing his arm and pulling him over to the pool's edge. Connor latched onto it like a lifeline, heaving himself up enough to rest his arms on the ledge as he hacked out pool water.

"You okay?" Kevin said, placing a hand on Connor's back.

It took Connor a bit to quit gasping and coughing long enough to speak. "Arnold Cunningham," he wheezed. "You're an asshole."

"Hey!" Arnold said defensively. "How was I supposed to know you can't swim? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I didn't think you'd throw me into the water," Connor snapped. He was still hoarse, but at least he'd quit coughing.

"So, wait," Kevin began. "You really can't swim? Like, at all?"

"No, genius; you just witnessed that."

Kevin shook his head disbelievingly. "But you're Mormon," he insisted. "I don't about your ward, but we had a lot of summer pool parties."

Connor shrugged. "A kid drowned at the lake when I was a baby. It freaked my mom out, so she kept us as far away from water as possible. And then I just never had any inclination to learn when I got older."

"Wait, but that doesn't make sense," Naba pointed out. "Shouldn't she have wanted her children to learn how to swim as early as possible? So that they would be _**less**_ likely to drown?"

"Yes well, this is the woman that disowned me. It's not like she's known for sensible decisions."

"But Connor, you _**have**_ to know how to swim," Kevin said adamantly. "It's a basic survival skill. They stressed that in Eagle Scout training."

"I'm sorry, Kevin, I can't seem to recall; you never really bring it up," Connor deadpanned. "Remind me: are you an Eagle Scout?"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I could teach you. I gave swim lessons to kids at my church all the time."

"Yeah, Connor!" Arnold piped up. "There's even babies out there that can swim! I've seen videos on—"

"Oh shut up," Connor quipped. "I don't want to hear from you, Arnold. Honestly, I kind of just want to kick your ass."

Arnold blinked, and then quickly swam toward the middle of the pool. "Come get me and do it," he challenged, and Connor just glared.

Naba snorted at her husband's behavior but nevertheless swam out meet him, leaving Connor and Kevin alone by the ledge. "You sure you're okay?" Kevin asked.

"I'm fine," Connor huffed. With another heave he climbed his way out of the pool, kneeling on the ground beside it. Kevin looked him over—soaking wet, his hair plastered to his forehead and his drenched clothes clinging to his body—and giggled.

"You look like my dogs after I give them a bath," he said. "All wet and deflated and grumpy."

"That's because I almost drowned to death," Connor retorted.

"Drowned to death is kind of redundant, would you say? And anyway, you wouldn't have died. There were three other people here." With a playful grin, Kevin added, "I saved you, remember? I'm like your knight in shining armour."

Connor snorted. "A little cliche, don't you think?"

"What can I say, I _**am**_ in the general vicinity of Disney World. Besides, you probably would've flailed yourself over to the shallow end before drowning. It's not that big a pool."

"How comforting." He stood up, his shoes and pants making sloshing sounds as he did so. "I'm gonna go change; I'll see y'all back in the room."

"Don't run into anyone on your way up," Kevin called as he headed toward the exit. "You look like crap; they might ask questions."

Connor just flashed him an annoyed look before swinging the gate open and stepping out. Kevin chuckled and made his way toward the others.

"You aren't going up with him?" Naba asked.

"No," he replied. "Why would I?"

As soon as he spotted the devilish quirk of her lips, he knew he probably shouldn't have asked. "Well, he's probably going to take a shower," she said. "And clearly he does not do well with water. So perhaps you could help him out—"

"Oh my God, stop," Kevin cut her off, his face going beet red at the very thought.

* * *

_The Next Morning_

"I cannot believe they're still asleep." It was 5:54 a.m., and Naba was staring at the bed next to hers and Arnold's, where Kevin and Connor were still deep in slumber. "Connor never sleeps, and Kevin—well, he's in Orlando."

Arnold glanced over at the pair; Kevin was sprawled out snoring softly while Connor was curled up beside him, his head tucked near Kevin's chin. He tried to lower his voice to match Naba's quiet whisper. "Well, yesterday was a long day."

Naba hummed in agreement. "Maybe we should wake them up," she said. "Kevin said he wanted an early start—"

"No, don't do that," Arnold hastily blocked her path before she could nudge his friend awake. "He set his alarm for six."

"So? That's only five minutes away."

"Still." Arnold had made that mistake before; images of Kevin's death glare after being disturbed so much as one minute early flashed through his mind. "Kevin loves his sleep," he explained. "Back when we first got to Uganda, you never would've guessed 'cause he was such a stickler for everything, but he hated the early wakeup rule. And ever since he started taking his medicine, he gets cranky if he has to get up early and doesn't get an afternoon nap. He probably won't care about that here, though."

Arnold must've been talking a bit too loud, because Connor's eyes fluttered open and he blinked in confusion at the two of them, sitting on their bed staring in his direction.

"Morning," he murmured, blinking blearily as he sat up. "What're you doing?"

"Talking about how weird it is that you were sleeping," Arnold explained.

Connor shook his head and stood up. "I'd be dead if I didn't sleep sometimes," he said, making his way over to his suitcase.

They all got ready in sleepy silence for the next few minutes, until the sound of Kevin's phone alarm blared throughout the room. Arnold watched as Kevin groaned and reached over to slap at it until it finally fell silent, and then he slumped his head back onto the pillow, eyes still blissfully shut.

He was about to say something when Kevin's eyes abruptly shot open, and he jerked up into a sitting position. "Oh my God, we're in Orlando," he said. "Guys! Guys, wake up! Wake up, we're going to Disney World!"

"We're already awake, buddy," Arnold explained, and Kevin's head snapped over at the sound of his voice, sleepiness and disorientation still evident on his face.

"What?" he said.

"I said we're already awake. We've been up for a while."

Kevin stared at him for a couple seconds, still looking slightly confused by the sentiment, before making a non-committal noise and climbing out of bed. Arnold shrugged, reaching for his toothbrush.

Forty-five minutes later, they had made their way to the hotel's continental breakfast buffet, and Arnold happily scooped eggs up onto his fork while Kevin tiredly swirled his Cheerios around with his spoon. It was quiet. Too quiet.

"Did you have any Disney World dreams last night?" Arnold said to break the silence.

"Don't remember," Kevin replied, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin in his hand.

"Huh," Arnold replied. "Interesting. I had a dream that you were a vampire, and you drank my blood and forced me to join your vampire coven. It was kind of erotic. And then it was your birthday, and you were mad because you only got thirty-six presents. Last year you got thirty-seven. And you didn't care how big they were, either." Arnold frowned, tapping a finger to his chin. "You know, now that I think about it, it may have actually been a crossover with _Harry Potter_. I woke up before the magic happened, though."

Kevin just mumbled "That's cool" before shoving a bite of cereal into his mouth.

Connor and Naba settled beside them then with their own plates, and Connor looked over at Kevin with a smirk. "You're gonna have to drink that coffee a little faster and perk up, hon. Unless you plan to be that expressionless while we're at Disney."

Kevin rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee, making a face. "D'you think there's a Starbucks near here?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, we should check. I'm gonna have to get one of those Orlando You Are Here Mugs anyway." Another few seconds of silence, during which Kevin chewed a bite and then took another sip of his apparently mediocre coffee. Suddenly, he seemed to remember something and brightened.

"Oh hey, did I tell you?" he said, his eyes on Connor. "I got a grinder! It's changed my life; I can't believe I didn't do it sooner."

Connor just stared back at him, a mixture of surprise and—well, Arnold wasn't sure what—on his face. "Did you now?" he said slowly, voice flat.

"Yeah, its amazing. You'd think I'd be more on top of that, being a barista and all. But anyway, it's awesome."

Connor's expression changed entirely at that, as realization struck. "Oh, a _**coffee**_ grinder," he said, and Arnold wondered exactly what kind of grinder he thought Kevin meant. "Well that's great, Kev."

Kevin frowned, apparently just as confused as Arnold. "Yeah, it is," he said. "What did you think I was talking about—"

"Nothing," Connor replied quickly. Beside him, Naba began giggling hysterically, and Connor murmured "Shut _**up**_ ," under his breath. Clearly that didn't deter her, since she only laughed harder.

Kevin furrowed his brows. "Guys, what's so funny?"

"Nothing," Connor said again. "Nothing at all. Now tell us, what's the first thing you want to do at Magic Kingdom?"

That did the trick; Kevin immediately started off on one of his long-winded spiels. Not as easily distracted, Arnold caught Naba's eye and gave her a look that clearly read, _what_?

She grinned and shook her head. _I'll tell you later_ , she mouthed.

* * *

_A Couple Days Later_

Maybe the rest of his life was up in the air, but one thing was certain to Kevin: Orlando was still awesome.

Three days were flying by quicker than he would've liked. They'd explored Magic Kingdom and Hollywood Studios to their hearts' content, went crazy at Islands of Adventure—particularly in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter—and now on their last full day, they were checking out Universal Studios.

Of course, it wasn't all perfect, even for Kevin. Sure, the others didn't believe him, but he was adamant: it had not been this hot when he was nine, the lines had not been as long when he was nine, and that awful roach thing they saw hanging out in a little puddle by Splash Mountain had _**definitely**_ not been there when he was nine.

Naba and Arnold had gone off to ride the Rip Ride Rockit but Kevin and Connor had taken one look at it and responded with a resounding _hell no_ , so the two of them were now wandering together past several shops.

"Oh my God." Kevin ducked into a store filled with minion shirts, plushies, and other memorabilia and grabbed a mug off a shelf. "Isn't it adorable?" he asked, holding it up for Connor to see. "Look, it's Kevin the minion! And it even says Kevin, right there! It's perfect."

Connor chuckled. "Sure, sweetie. It's cute."

Kevin looked at the price tag and winced. "Should I get it, though?" he asked. "I mean, I already have several mugs, and I just got the Orlando Starbucks one. How many mugs does a person need, really? But it sure is cute. I know I'm gonna regret it if I don't get it. But then again—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Connor snatched it out of his hands mid-sentence and headed over to the register, slapping some cash down on the counter before Kevin could protest. He collected his change and took the mug—now wrapped in paper sitting safely in a bag—then held it out to Kevin.

"Happy birthday," he said.

"My birthday was weeks ago and you already got me something," Kevin replied slowly, not sure what to think of the gesture.

"Then Happy Flag Day."

"Flag Day was—"

"Whatever." Connor rolled his eyes and held the bag out even further. "Just take your dang mug before I return it."

"Okay, okay. Thank you." Kevin reached out and accepted the bag as they headed out of the store. "That was sweet of you."

"No problem, hon. Just return the favor next time I see something I want. I'll even make sure it's, I don't know, an Armani tie or something to give you a competitive edge."

Kevin laughed, giving Connor a playful nudge on the shoulder as they continued strolling along the walkway. He sighed serenely as he looked around at the vibrant shops and happy crowds.

Connor caught his eye and smiled. "So," he began. "Is this still where you want to spend the rest of life? After grad school, I mean."

"Heck yeah," Kevin answered without a second thought. "It's the greatest city in the world. Look around, don't you think so?"

Connor shrugged. "It's okay. Sand and sun isn't really my thing."

"What is your thing, then? What vacation spot have you always wanted to go back to?"

"We didn't really travel much," Connor replied. "It wasn't really a priority for my parents. I mean, we went to the Grand Canyon once and a couple other places for work or family things, but Salt Lake was usually our go-to travel spot, every year for General Conference. What a vacation, right?"

He let out a dry little laugh and then added, "I've always wanted to go to New York, though. Ever since I was a kid. I mean, who wouldn't? The lights, the people, Central Park, Broadway…I've spent the majority of these last several years of my life planning to move there. I was gonna get a little shoebox apartment with a couple other starving artists, struggle to pay my rent while waiting tables and going to countless auditions, star in whatever productions I could get, no matter or how weird or questionable the venue, until I finally earned my Equity card and maybe, just maybe, landed a gig on Broadway."

If Kevin had to rank places to visit in the U.S., New York City would appear quite low on the list, somewhere between Barney Smith's Toilet Seat Art Museum in Texas and the middle of freaking nowhere, Alabama. But Connor looked so wistful about the life he'd just described that Kevin couldn't help wishing he could somehow make it happen for him.

"You still might do it," he said, even though there was a selfish part of his brain that wanted nothing of the sort, since that would mean giving up either Connor or Orlando, and neither option sounded appealing.

Connor looked at him the way one would look at a child insisting the moon was made of cheese. "I'm not going to Broadway, Kev. My goals have changed."

"No, I meant live there. In New York," Kevin clarified. "There's tons of colleges there, right? I'm sure they occasionally hire hall directors. And hey, you wouldn't even need that crappy apartment because you'd be living on campus."

Connor smiled. "Maybe," he said. "Who knows where I'll end up after graduation."

"You know," Kevin added, gently nudging Connor's shoulder with his own. "There's tons of colleges in Florida, too."

Connor laughed. "Is that so?"

"Yep. And UCF is huge with lots of dorms."

Connor smacked his arm. "Residence halls," he corrected. "You do realize that people who live in Orlando don't go to Disney World everyday, right? Unless they work there."

"I know that," Kevin said, slipping his hands in his pockets as he walked. "But you have to admit, it'd be a pretty good life. Working as an optometrist living in the suburbs. I'd buy annual passes and take the kids there all the time; Florida residents get discounts, you know."

Connor was quiet for almost a full minute, staring at the ground with a pensive expression. "Have you always wanted children?" he finally asked.

"Of course," Kevin replied, "Doesn't every good Mormon? I always figured I'd go to BYU after my mission, marry some nice Mormon girl, go to grad school at UCF, and then have four children. One boy and three girls."

Connor smirked. "You planned the genders of your kids?"

"Shut up; I just assumed God loved me and would give me anything I asked for. Anyway, I've decided now that four's a bit much. I'd like three, preferably a boy and two girls, although obviously that's out of my control."

Connor shook his head, bemused. "Was there any part of your life that you didn't plan to the last detail? Before Uganda, I mean."

"Kind of," Kevin admitted. "Honestly, I didn't really know what I was gonna do for a living. My whole life was centered around the church; I knew I wanted to be a bishop someday, and becoming president of the church was my ultimate goal—"

"Of course it was," Connor chuckled. He reached over and linked his hand with Kevin's, and Kevin couldn't help stiffening and instinctively glancing around. When he realized that—despite all the people around—no one was paying any attention to them whatsoever, he relaxed. Connor obviously noticed his hesitation, but his only reaction was a slight furrow in his brow.

"Anyway, since bishops don't get paid I obviously needed something else," Kevin continued. "I figured I'd major in business and find something lucrative and worthwhile to do in that field, like my dad. I didn't consider working in healthcare until Uganda." He looked over at Connor, curious. "What about you? Did you always intend to be a theatre kid?"

Connor let out a short bark of a laugh. "God, no," he said. "My parents would have had a fit. They let me stick with drama club and my dance and voice classes through high school as long as I also took wood-shop and helped out with my Dad's extermination business on occasion—yeah, weird, huh?" he said when he spotted Kevin's confused stare. "I could participate so-called gay hobbies as long as they didn't dominate my life. Some sort of sick consolation for therapy, I think. But anyway, they always made it very, very clear that I was supposed to…how'd they put it…outgrow those activities once I graduated."

Kevin cringed. "So what did you think you were gonna study instead, then?"

"Well back when I was younger, my dad used to talk about me joining his business full-time," Connor replied. "But no way was that ever gonna happen."

"Aw, you mean you didn't want to kill bugs for a living?" Kevin teased, flashing him a grin.

Connor dismissively waved a hand. "Bugs are easy," he said. "Insects, spiders, snakes, whatever. It's the rodents and such that I couldn't handle. There's no real way to take out a nest of baby mice without feeling like an asshole, you know? No, I briefly considered becoming an English teacher, but apparently my dad thought _**that**_ was a bit too feminine as well, so then I decided I was gonna study hospitality administration and become a hotel manager."

Kevin blinked. Well, he didn't see that one coming. "A hotel manager? Seriously?"

"Hey, it seemed like a decent job," Connor protested. "It involves working with people, overseeing operations, these are things I'm pretty good at. And hey, what I'm studying now isn't too far off."

"It kind of is, though," Kevin pointed out. "Isn't the whole student development thing the main reason why you want to be a hall director? You're not really trying to help hotel customers grow as people while they're checked in. I don't know, I just can't see you being happy working in a hotel for a living."

"Well that's why I never went for it," Connor said. "Once my parents kicked me out, I figured I'd study whatever the hell I wanted."

"Well, I hate to break it to you," Kevin said, trying as hard as he could to keep his face expressionless. "But your parents were right. Theatre did make you kind of gay."

Connor laughed and gave Kevin's arm another smack. "Smart-ass," he said. "So tell me, this house you always pictured in the Orlando suburbs. Did it have blue shutters and a white picket fence?"

Kevin faltered as that exact image, one he'd seen several times before, flashed in his mind. "Actually, yeah," he admitted.

Connor was quiet for a long time, simply strolling along beside Kevin with his lips pursed, their fingers still linked. When he finally spoke, his voice had a tense edge.

"You wanted your life to be perfect," he said. "You still do, don't you?"

 _Of course I do_ , Kevin almost replied. _Doesn't everyone?_ But that thoughtful, troubled look on Connor's face was making his throat tighten, and all those doubts Kevin had managed to push away after that first afternoon in Orlando came rushing back. Of course this was happening, of course he couldn't expect these past few blissful days to somehow magically fix everything, of course Connor was having second thoughts, was starting to see that this wasn't going to work, they were just too different and Kevin was never going to be able to give him everything he wanted, whether it was crazy, mind-blowing sex or a life in New York or—

He swallowed and willed those nagging thoughts to quiet down long enough for him to focus. "What are you trying to say?" he asked.

Connor was quiet for a few more seconds, nibbling his bottom lip. Finally, he came to halt and pulled his hand out of Kevin's. He squared his shoulders and looked up at Kevin, determined.

"You didn't tell Arnold that we're dating."

"Oh." That was the only thing Kevin could say. That's what this was about? He probably should have come up with a better response, but those pesky doubts were still swirling around his mind, and combined with the giddy, yet slightly terrifying realization that Connor had actually called what they were doing dating, he didn't have much mental capacity left over for a coherent response.

"Naba brought it up while I was helping her with thank-you cards, and Arnold had no idea. Any particular reason why you didn't tell him?" When Kevin didn't initially reply, Connor added, "Look, I get that you're not exactly ready to come out to the whole world. But this is _**Arnold**_ we're talking about. If you're not even comfortable telling him, then I don't really know how—"

"It's not that I didn't want him to know," Kevin blurted out, and Connor's mouth abruptly closed. "I don't mind if he knows; I mean, he'd already suspected, uh, things about me for a while. I didn't deliberately not tell him, I just…" he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, not really sure how to explain the awful way his heart raced and his throat locked up anytime he even so much as considered discussing the two of them. "I just…um…look, I'm still trying to figure out how to get the words out, okay?'

Connor eyed him carefully for a few seconds, and then his shoulders slumped and he looked away. "I shouldn't have read so much into it," he relented. "I forget sometimes how new all of this is to you."

"It's fine," Kevin said quickly. He didn't want to talk about any of this anymore. They were in Orlando, damn it, the happiest place in the world. The one place where he shouldn't have to worry about things like not coming out as quickly as Connor wanted and not wanting sex as much as Connor did and—

"No it isn't."

Kevin glanced over at Connor, dumbfounded. "What?" he asked.

"It's not fine," Connor clarified. "At least, something isn't fine. There's still something bothering you."

Shit. Why did his face have to show every freaking thought in his head? Kevin used to be proud of that quality. His father used to tell him to never trust someone with a poker face, because it was "like lying with your expressions." Now, he realized that bit of advice was just as stupid as nearly every other piece of bullshit his father had fed him.

"Kevin," Connor pressed on, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, hon?"

"How many, uh…" Kevin drifted off, doubtful. He really didn't want to have this conversation here of all places, but Connor clearly wasn't going to let it go. He steeled himself and let the words spill out before he could stop them. "How many people have you been with?"

Connor did a double-take and then faltered. "Why?" he asked slowly as he pulled his hand away.

 _Because I want to know exactly what I'm getting into_. "Just curious," Kevin replied with what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug. "These are things we should know about each other now, right?"

Connor pursed his lips and said nothing for a few seconds before eventually replying, "I don't know. A few."

"A few," Kevin repeated, voice flat. "Can you be a little more specific?" When Connor narrowed his eyes again, he added, "Just humor me, okay?"

"Look Kevin, I honestly don't know," Connor said with impatient huff. "A dozen? More, probably? I haven't kept track; I wasn't exactly sober every time."

Kevin honestly didn't know how he felt about that. Five, eight, ten—hell, even if Connor had said a hundred, Kevin could manage it. He could work a number, any number. But _I don't know_? What was he supposed to do with _I don't know_? Suddenly, another thought—one that hadn't even occurred to him before now—flitted into his brain.

"And you used protection, right?" he asked.

There was a split-second pause, which would likely have good unnoticed by most, before Connor smiled tersely and said, "Of course." Kevin, however, definitely picked up on his hesitation and felt his heart sink.

"Every time?" he persisted.

Connor sat there with that same tight smile plastered on his face, eyeing Kevin for few moments before he sighed and looked away. "No," he said. "Not necessarily every time."

Kevin felt a sick, queasy feeling bubble up in his stomach. "Are you serious?" he nearly shrieked. "Do you have any idea how—how _**irresponsible**_ that—"

"Yes, Kevin, I know exactly how irresponsible that is," Connor snapped with a scowl. "I was right there in Uganda with you, remember? I know how bad HIV can be. I was just as upset as you when Mafala passed. But as it turns out, I'm an alcoholic who makes bad decisions while drunk."

He looked down and crossed his arms, and his voice was softer as he continued, "If it makes you feel better, I did use condoms most of the time. Ninety percent, maybe? It's been awhile since anything like that's happened, and it won't happen again. I get tested regularly, and nothing's come back positive." He swallowed and looked back up at Kevin, blue eyes clouded with uncertainty. "Look, I'm not necessarily proud of my sexual history, and if it upsets you then I unders—"

"It doesn't upset me," Kevin relied hollowly. "And you have nothing to be ashamed of."

It wasn't a complete lie. Aside from the absence of protection, there was nothing inherently wrong with Connor's behavior. But didn't being drunk often lower people's inhibitions, make them do things that perhaps they wanted to do but wouldn't necessarily consider in everyday life? In Kevin's limited experiences with alcohol, he'd never once felt any desire to sleep with a stranger. The fact that Connor did only highlighted their all-too-prevalent differences.

Connor was scrutinizing him now, concerned. "Where's this coming from, dear?"

"Do you think I'm boring?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he'd even thought them through.

Connor just blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Do you think I'm boring?" Kevin pressed. "Dull? Am I too tame for you? Look, I'm not ready to have sex with you. I'm not sure when I will be, but when I am it's, um, it's not gonna be anything crazy. And I heard that your, uh, preferences are a little…well, different, so I just—I don't know, I…" Flustered, he threw up his hands and bit out, "I just feel like you're gonna get bored of me, okay?"

Connor's expression had remained fairly neutral through Kevin's outburst, but after he was finished, he brought his hand up to his mouth, obviously trying to conceal a smile that was creeping across his face.

"Are you laughing at me?" Kevin snapped, hurt.

Connor quickly dropped his hand. "I'm not laughing at you," he said. "No it's just…" he stopped, unable to hold in a chuckle any longer. "You make it sound like I'm getting it on in some red room of pain."

"Are you?" Kevin shot back defensively.

"Only on Thursdays." The look on Kevin's face must've made it clear he wasn't in the mood for jokes, because Connor quickly added, "No. Sweetie, you're overthinking this. Don't worry about it, okay? If I was gonna get bored of you, it would've happened a long time ago. And hey," he looked straight into Kevin's eyes and gave him a small smile, his hands now rubbing up and down along Kevin's upper arms. "I'll never pressure you to do anything you don't want, okay?"

 _But will it disappoint you when I say no?_ That was what Kevin should have asked. But he didn't, because he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. Instead, he just nodded and whispered, "Okay."

Connor gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and then took his hand. "Arnold and Naba will be looking for us soon," he said, leading him back in the direction they came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate your thoughts! The next chapter will be the official start of Part Two, aka the second state.


	51. PART TWO: Mom Blows the Job

**PART TWO: BLOOMINGTON, INDIANA**

_**Grad School, Year One** _

**Chapter Fifty-One: Mom Blows the Job**

"So if the fifth vector's where the student develops their sense of self-identity, then the sixth one's gonna be where they find their calling, in a sense. Like, making commitments to goals and such."

Kevin stabbed at his pasta and listened vaguely as Connor prattled on and on. Was this really what date night was supposed to be like? Just sitting there recounting classroom lectures? Sure, Kevin didn't have much experience with date night beyond the group dates he and his girlfriend had been on in high school, but this hadn't been quite what he expected. He reached forward and grabbed the pepper, sprinkling some on his dinner. Right, pepper. He and Brynn were almost out of that at home, he remembered, and he made a mental note to pick some up on his next grocery run. What else did they need? Eggs, for sure. Probably spinach and apples as well, along with milk, orange juice, bagels—

"So that brings us to the last vector, developing integrity," Connor was saying. Of course, he was still talking. "That's where students are gonna really start to finalize their personal value system and act accordingly. And that's basically Chickering's theory." Kevin almost breathed a sigh of relief, until Connor abruptly brightened and added, "Oh, but we also talked about Perry; that one was pretty awesome, too. So basically, Perry's intellectual development theory says that students go through four different thinking positions before—"

"Connor," Kevin finally cut him off. "Look, I'm glad you like this stuff, but I really don't need to hear every little detail about your student development theory class."

"Aw, It's so interesting, though," Connor said before taking a sip of his lemonade. "And relevant—I mean, all of my freshman are basically on Chickering's first couple vectors, and most of my RAs are on, what, three or four? Maybe a few of them are on five, but—wait, I forgot to tell you about the influences!" He suddenly jumped in his seat a little in excitement, and Kevin held back an annoyed sigh. "So there's different environmental influences that affect development as well; most of them are related to the institution's culture and that totally makes sense, because I've noticed that my residents here are definitely different than the ones at Weber. Chickering also says that—"

"Oh my God, enough about Chickering, okay?" Kevin snapped.

Connor blinked, almost stunned. Maybe Kevin shouldn't have been so blunt, but good grief, he never wanted to hear words _Chickering_ or _vector_ ever again.

"Okay," Connor replied, and then his lips quirked up in a teasing smile. "Sounds like you're struggling with the second vector. Managing emotions."

Kevin flashed him a less-than-amused look, and Connor's eyes quickly flitted down to his chicken parmesan.

They ate in silence for a minute or two before Connor asked, "So what did you do today?"

Kevin swallowed a bite. "Hmm?"

"In class. What'd you learn about?"

"Eyes," Kevin replied with a shrug. "We learned about eyes."

Connor snorted. "Really? You learned about eyes? In optometry school?"

"Yep."

"Sweetie," Connor began tentatively, shifting the broccoli around on his plate. "You do like your classes, don't you?"

"They're okay." _They're hard as hell. I'm sick of them._ "I just don't feel like repeating the lecture to you, all right? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Connor sighed. "Nothing at all. Have you had your first counseling session?"

Kevin faltered. "Yeah," he said slowly as he broke a piece of garlic bread in half, more to have something to do than anything else. "Why?"

"Just wanted to see how it went."

"It went fine."

 _Fine_ was one way to put it. Kevin liked to think he was above stereotyping, but the first time he saw Harry Saffell, with his bulging waistline, receding hairline, and the prominent creases etched on his pudgy face, all he could think was that this was not the type of person he felt comfortable spilling his guts to. Maybe that was a bit harsh, but the fact remained that Harry was _**not**_ Latoya and frankly a little mean-looking, so Kevin had spent the majority of his first session sitting in silence with a tight, awkward smile on his face.

"You went to Ohio State?" he finally asked when he spotted the diploma on the older man's shelf.

"Many years ago," Harry had replied. "More years than I'd like to admit."

"They rejected me," Kevin replied off-handedly. "The optometry school there, I mean."

"That's too bad."

"It's fine. No one really likes rejection, of course, but this is a really good school, too. At least as far as I can tell. I haven't been here long, obviously."

Harry had then tried to go deeper into why Kevin had immediately latched onto the subject of rejection, but Kevin just reverted back to his uncomfortable smile. He'd then called Latoya that afternoon, asking her if she was really, truly sure Harry was a good fit. She had just insisted that of course he was; he was a good colleague of hers and while the transition to a new therapist couldn't be hard, she was confident he would adjust to Harry in no time. Sure, whatever.

"Honey." Connor's voice cut into his thoughts, and he looked across the table to see his boyfriend watching him closely. "Everything okay?"

He blinked and then hastily speared another bite of pasta. "Sure. I'm fine," he said. "Really, everything's fine. I'm just, um...a little stressed right now. Lots of homework and all."

Connor let out a sympathetic sigh and then reached across the table, taking Kevin's hand in his own. "It'll be fine," he said. "You'll get through it; you always do."

Kevin was trying really hard not to glance around the restaurant to see if anyone was staring at their linked fingers. He knew it pissed Connor off when he did that, but damn it, he couldn't help it. An overwhelming feeling of panic hit him, and he pulled his hand back, trying to brush it off by reaching for his water instead.

"That's not the only thing bothering me today," he admitted after taking a sip. "My sister kicked my mom out of her wedding."

Connor quirked an eyebrow. "Are you serious?" he asked incredulously.

"Yep. Mormons in good standing only, she said. Technically Mom is in good standing; it's not like she committed adultery or anything. She hasn't decided if she wants to stay with the church, but she hasn't been kicked out. I guess that's not good enough for Deb, though. Figures. She's getting married in the Salt Lake temple, of course. The one in Ogden just won't do. Have you ever been to a wedding in the Salt Lake temple?"

"Once, when I was about eight," Connor explained, shifting the last couple bites of chicken around on his plate. "One of my cousins got married there. She lived in Sandy at the time, but she's in New Mexico now. Most of the weddings my family attended were in Idaho Falls."

"Well, it's stupid to want to get married in the Salt Lake temple. It's practically a wedding factory; you might as well use one of the drive-thru chapels in Vegas."

Connor's lips quirked up in a playful grin. "Admit it, hon," he said. "You totally wanted to get married there before you went to Uganda, didn't you?"

"Well yeah, but I'm smarter now. Anyway, my mom and I each got one of those reception-only invites that all the non-Mormons get. I couldn't care less; I haven't been in good standing with the church in years. She couldn't invite me to the ceremony even if she wanted to. But Mom's devastated. Deb's the first one of her kids to get married; she's been dreaming of this for years. How could she do that to her?"

Connor shook his head. "She's gonna regret that later."

"Right?" Kevin stabbed angrily once again at the last of his pasta. "I don't even know if I'm gonna go to the reception. She's getting married over fall break, so I can if I want to. But why even bother?"

"Because she's your sister." There was a tense edge to Connor's voice, and Kevin winced as he remembered the stunt _**his**_ sister had pulled. "And the fact that she invited you shows she still cares at least a little, and you should treasure that."

"You're right," Kevin grumbled. "I just feel really bad for my mom. I know she was looking forward to all that mother-daughter wedding stuff. Hopefully she'll get to do all that with Katie and she won't miss out completely. Although, is it bad that part of me hopes Katie grows up to be, like, some butch motorcycle-riding lesbian with a crew cut? My dad and Deb would be so pissed. Maybe I should start trying to sway her interests to get her on that path. What do you like lesbians like?"

Connor was clearly trying very hard to hide a smirk. "Well, I'm not a hundred percent certain, but I've heard they like vagina."

Kevin let out a snort. "You know what I meant," he said. "Anyway, I just don't get why Deb's doing this. And I've got enough on my plate as it is without all this petty family drama. I have three tests and a quiz next week; you know how much studying I have to get done? I don't need this on top of everything else."

"You'll get through it; I know you will," Connor assured. With an encouraging smile, he added, "Want me to spend the night?"

Kevin was torn. He could think of at least a dozen things he should really work on that night, and he didn't need the distraction. But on the other hand, the thought of just putting it all off for one night and watching TV with his head in Connor's lap while Connor stroked his hair was quite appealing.

"I'd like that, actually," he said. "I'll need time to do some homework though."

"That's fine; I've got a few things I need to be working on too."

Kevin took another sip of his water, and his eyes flickered down to the check that the server had brought by while they were chatting. Connor had obviously seen it as well but made no move to pick it up, so Kevin mischievously nudged it closer to his plate.

"Don't try and shove that off on me," Connor laughed. "I took care of the last one. Your turn, sweetie."

"Ugh, fine." Kevin let out an exaggerated huff and reached for his wallet. "This is my Starbucks paycheck, you know; I should be using it for, like, my education or something. My student loans are gonna be astronomical by the time I graduate."

Connor shrugged. "True, but after graduation you'll be making enough to pay them off, buy a mansion, and probably open up your very own Starbucks franchise while you're at it," he said. "You'll be fine."

"Oh, really?" Kevin asked with a bemused look. "How much do you think optometrists make?"

"More than hall directors."

Kevin slipped his credit card into the folio and handed it off to the server. "The national average salary for an optometrist is only 116 thousand dollars, you know," he pointed out. "And a lot of new ones make less."

"Only 116 thousand?" Connor clapped his hand to his heart in mock disbelief. "Oh my God, I didn't realize you were gonna be so _**poor**_. Are you gonna be able to afford to pay your rent?"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Ha ha."

"You know most hall directors only make about 30k, right?"

"Yeah, well, you'll get free housing so that's gonna stretch a lot farther than it does for most people."

"That's true," Connor relented, although he still had that teasing smile plastered on his face. "Well don't worry Kev, I'll take you in if I have to. In fact, I think we should start a national program where hall directors adopt poor starving optometrists everywhere. More people need to know about this issue."

"Quit being an asshole," Kevin retorted with a playful swat to Connor's arm. "Obviously I didn't mean I was gonna be poor. But it costs a lot more than 116k to open up a Starbucks, you know."

Connor chuckled. "Okay, okay" he said. "Look, I'll make it up to you; why don't you pick out what we watch on Netflix?"

Kevin grinned. "Sure, we can do that," he said. "Tell me: what's your least favorite movie or TV show of all time?

" _Titanic_ ," Connor promptly responded.

"Whatever, you love _Titanic_. Be honest."

"The _Saw_ franchise."

Kevin winced. "What else?"

" _Hostel_. _American Psycho. Breaking Bad_. Anything where the dog dies or where people eat other people."

"Okay, now you're just naming stuff that you know I hate too so that I won't choose it," Kevin said. "I'll just pick something from my Disney collection."

"You never get tired of watching those, do you?"

"Nope," Kevin quipped with a grin as he accepted his card and the receipt back from the server. Connor just laughed and shook his head.

* * *

_The Next Evening_

Naba was seated at the kitchen counter, folding laundry with her phone resting on speaker nearby as she listened to Connor complain the day's conduct meetings.

"I mean, it was insane, she wasn't really even in trouble," he was saying. "Having candles confiscated isn't that big a deal; it was more of a formality. Who knew someone could get so bent out of shape over _**candles**_?"

"This is the same girl who said it was unfair that she wasn't allowed to have pets but her roommate has a seeing-eye dog, yes?" Naba asked. "She sounds awful."

"She is," Connor replied. "I know I probably shouldn't say that about my residents, but she's a pain in the ass. And then right after that I had another meeting for illegal downloads," he continued. "Those are always the worst, because we have to state the date, time, and title, and IT only bothers flagging it if it's porn. Have you ever had to look an eighteen-year-old frat boy in the face and tell them you noticed that on Tuesday at 8:07 p.m. they illegally downloaded a movie called _Mom Blows the Job_?"

Naba giggled. "Was it really called that?"

"Yep. I can't make this shit up; I'm not that creative."

She chuckled again and said, "So it sounds like your assistantship is a lot of work, then?"

"It is. I love it, though. I mean sure, it's tough and there's the occasional crappy conduct meeting, but it's pretty awesome, overall. I have a great team of RAs, I love my classes and my cohort...I'm just really liking it here, Naba."

"That's fantastic," she said gleefully. "I knew you would do well."

"Mm hm. And oh my God; I'm so glad I'm no longer surrounded by the Mormon faith," he said. "I mean, Weber State wasn't bad, but Utah and Idaho are just so dominated by the church, and that's not an issue here. Sure, Indiana isn't exactly the most progressive state out there, but Bloomington's pretty great and at least everything isn't run by the church that oppressed me my whole life. But enough about me; what's new with you? How's capstone going?"

"Oh, it's fine." She smoothed out a pair of scrub pants. "Arnold quit his job at Natural Grocers."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

Even though Connor couldn't see her, she couldn't help rolling her eyes. "He said there was too much kale."

She heard Connor let out a short, disbelieving laugh. " _ **That**_ was his reason? Were you mad?"

"Not really," she replied. "If he had just quit with no plan I would have been upset, but he did find another job beforehand. He's working at Target now, so as long as he doesn't quit there it will not be a problem. And he should be able to transfer to the one in Bloomington if he can't find something full-time right away."

"Well that's good." She heard him snicker a little before he added, "You know you're probably gonna be the main breadwinner in this marriage, right?"

"Probably," she said with a chuckle of her own. "I do not mind, though, as long as he is putting in some effort. He is still trying to figure out what he plans to do for a living. It's hard; writing children's stories does not pay many bills."

"Well, maybe he'll be able to publish a few of them eventually. He's pretty good."

"Perhaps. For now though. we both just want to get through these next few months. I am ready to graduate, and Arnold is so excited to move to Indiana. He misses Kevin."

"Kevin misses him, too. He hasn't really said anything, but I can tell he does."

"How is Kevin?" she asked as she pulled another pair of scrubs from the basket. "I have not spoken to him in a while."

"He's fine," Connor said. "He doesn't really talk about his classes much, and he seems to be keeping to himself a lot. I mean, he spends time with me and Brynn, but I'm not sure he's made friends with any of his classmates. He's got a lot going on; I think he's still settling in."

"It is a big transition," she agreed. Then with a sly grin, she asked, "And how are things going for you lovebirds? With your relationship, I mean."

Connor laughed. "It's great. Really, it's amazing. It's just that…" he paused and seemed to think better of that statement. "Well, it's great, really."

She frowned. "You hesitated," she pointed out. "What is going on? You can tell me, if you want."

There was a long silence on his end, before she heard him sigh. "I don't know," he confessed. "This is gonna sound kind of—well, I don't know, exactly, but it's just that...I'm starting to wonder if he's actually...into me."

"What do you mean? Of course he's into you. It's obvious that he—"

"I don't think he actually wants to have sex with me, okay?" he suddenly blurted out. The statement came out rushed, like he was embarrassed to even say it.

"Oh," Naba said after short pause. "You two, um, haven't done that yet?"

"No. We've been seeing each other for a while now, and he's given no indication that he wants to take things any further. How exactly is that supposed to make me feel?"

"Well, Kevin is a virgin, right?" she pointed out. "It might take him a while to be okay with the idea. Just look at how long it took Arnold and I to have sex for the first time."

"True, but did Arnold act like he was repulsed by the very idea?"

Naba finished folding the last pair of socks and began placing the neat stacks of clothes back into the basket. "What makes you think Kevin is repulsed?"

"Just…" Connor let out another sigh. "I don't know. Maybe repulsed isn't the right word. But he still hasn't said anything to his mom about me, and he, well, he just...sometimes when we're making out and things start to, uh, escalate, he freaks out and gets really awkward and looks at me like, I don't know, like I'm about to disembowel him or something. Did Arnold ever act like that?"

"Well no, but I wasn't a man and Arnold wasn't still coming to terms with being into me," she replied. "Just give him time, Connor. This is a very big change for him, and he does not always adapt well to change. Don't be discouraged; he definitely likes you. I am sure he will become more comfortable soon enough. You will just have to be patient."

Connor was quiet for a moment. "You're right," he admitted grudgingly. "Although I hate to say it, but I'm kind of tired of being patient. I mean, I haven't pressured him or anything and I definitely don't plan to, but oh my God; I _**really**_ want to have sex with him." When Naba giggled, he added, "Come on, can you blame me? You've seen him; surely you know where I'm coming from."

"Kevin isn't really my type," she told him. "But yes, he is very attractive."

"Attractive is an understatement; he's freaking gorgeous. And we're finally an item after six years, so hey, I really, really want to sleep with him." As an afterthought, he said, "You know what else I want? Like, more than I want Kevin, even? A margarita. I'd kill for a margarita right now. Or maybe a sangria. Better yet why don't I just take a shot of tequila and shoot it straight into my veins?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't even think about it," she warned.

Connor groaned. "You know how much it sucks to be sober in grad school? All anyone ever does is drink around here," he grumbled. "You know, I'm kind of wondering if I actually _**need**_ to be completely sober. I mean, as long as I don't fall back on my old patterns would it really be so bad if I had a drink every once in a—"

"Connor," she cut him off firmly. "Think about how you used to act. Do you really want to chance that happening again?"

"Was I really _**that**_ bad, though? It's not like I was drunk all the time."

She quirked an eyebrow. Surely he couldn't be serious about that, could he? "No, but when you _**were**_ drunk you acted like a damn idiot," she said. "You have bad judgment when you drink, and you know that. You would drive yourself home, you had unsafe sex in dirty bathrooms—hell, you got a tattoo, Connor. You let a random man you were fucking inject ink into your skin."

"That makes it sound way worse than it actually was." Naba could practically see Connor gazing down at the compass rose on his forearm. "He had his own parlor, and it's a really good tattoo."

"So? You got lucky; you could have easily ended up with a disease. Or with a shitty Spongebob on your butt cheek." She heard him snicker at that, and she added, "You also did ecstasy in nightclubs, and you once slept with a guy who kept live possums in his bedroom."

"Yeah..." Connor agreed reluctantly, before pointing out, "He wasn't bad looking, though."

"Live possums, Connor," she emphasized.

"To be fair, it's not like dead possums would've been any better."

"There shouldn't have been any possums at all," she said, exasperated. "Look, Connor, just stay sober, okay? Please. You are doing very well right now, and I don't want to see you throw that away."

"I know." Connor said, his voice quiet. "And I won't, I promise. I'm not actually going to start drinking again, it's just...things get stressful sometimes, and it can be hard to keep my resolve."

"It will get easier."

"I know," he repeated. "And it is easier, a little. Sometimes, at least. Other times, not so much."

"Have you talked to Kevin about this?"

Connor hesitated. "Not really," he replied. "I don't want to stress him out any more than he already is. His program sounds really hard, and he's adjusting to his new counselor, and I just don't want to throw any of my stuff on top of that."

"Well, I'm always here if you want to talk," she told him. "Are you sure you are doing okay?"

"Of course. Look, don't worry about what I said with the whole drinking thing, okay? I'm fine, really. It's nothing I can't handle, so—" he paused and then sighed. "Hey, one of my RAs is trying to call me. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay," Naba said. "Take care. Bye, Connor."

She ended the call and stared pensively at the laundry basket, trying to tell herself that it was fine, Connor had seemed happy while they talked and she shouldn't get hung up on one little comment. Yes, his work could be stressful, and it didn't appear that everything was perfect between him and Kevin, but Connor was used to handling difficult situations. If he said he wasn't going to relapse, then Naba should believe him, right?

She tapped the edge of the phone to her chin a few times in thought, before shaking her head and dialing up another contact.

"Hey, Naba," Brynn answered on the second ring with that familiar, impatient edge to her voice that Naba was so used to. "What d'you need?"

Naba hadn't spoken to her in a few weeks, but she knew Brynn hated small talk so she cut right to the chase. "Can you do me a favor and keep an eye on Connor?" she asked. "I do not want him to start drinking again."

She heard Brynn snort on the other end of the line. "Sure, why not? I have two hundred fucking pages to read by the end of the week and an exam in Torts tomorrow, but yeah I'll drop everything to babysit Connor because you asked me to."

Naba winced. "Having a rough time?" she asked.

"A little," Brynn replied. "Contracts was shit today. You'd think everyone in law school would be smart, right? No, some of these people are the biggest damn idiots I've ever seen in my life. I can't wait to crush them in the rankings." The sound of papers shuffling came through the phone line, and Brynn added, "Why do think he's gonna start drinking again?"

"Just a couple things he said earlier." Naba tapped her fingers against the handle of the basket. "I don't know, maybe he will be fine. I might be overthinking this."

No, you may have a point," Brynn said. "How else is he gonna fill his time? It's not like that lightweight fluff Master's program of his is much of a challenge."

Naba smiled wryly. It wasn't the first time she'd heard Brynn criticize another degree track; law school had definitely gone to her head. "I don't think his courses are an issue; it sounds like he has plenty of work to do—"

"Like what? Hold hands and give people hugs?" Brynn shot back. "What kind of shit field of study is student affairs, anyway? All he ever does is talk about the NASPA competencies. What the hell are the fucking NASPA competencies?"

"I don't know," Naba sighed, rolling her eyes. "But can you just keep an eye on him? I'm not asking you to follow him around everywhere, just let me know if he seems...off somehow when you see him. I know he is at your and Kevin's apartment a lot."

"Why aren't you asking Kevin to do this?"

"I think Kevin would overreact if I mentioned it to him. And, well, he's not exactly the best at handling addiction himself."

Brynn made a noise of agreement. "Sure. I can do that. Hey, I've gotta get back to studying this shit, okay?"

"All right. Good luck on your test tomorrow." They said their goodbyes and Naba stared at the phone screen a little longer before dropping it on top of the clothes in the basket and picking the whole thing up, trying to put it all out of her mind for now.

She couldn't wait to move to Indiana.

* * *

_A Few Weeks Later_

It was intriguing how quickly one person could develop camaraderie with another. Despite his initial reservations, by his third session Kevin was already spilling his heart out to Harry Saffel.

"I just don't know what to do," he told the counselor now. "I just—I like Connor a lot; I really do. I might even be in love with him. But it's terrifying. He wants me to come out so bad, and I…I don't think I can. What would I even come out as? Can't I figure all this out for myself before broadcasting it to the world?"

He straightened up a little in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Plus, there's too much shit going on with my family right now to throw this on them too," he added. "My dad would disown me, I think. And yeah, maybe things haven't been great between us lately, but he's still my father, and I don't want to lose him completely. I know it sounds like I'm making excuses to put this off. I am, I guess. Making excuses, I mean. But..." he let out a little huff. "Well, the fact is, I'm just not ready yet. I can't do it. And I feel like there's so much pressure with him, and I can't even be mad at him for it. Who can blame him for wanting everything out in the open? It makes sense, and that's what makes it so much worse. I'm the one fucking this up, and I can't fix it. Hell, I don't _**want**_ to fix it—well no, I do, but I also don't. Does that make sense?"

"Of course," Harry replied. "It sounds like you want the positives of coming out without the negatives. That's human nature. But it isn't realistic, Kevin."

"I know," Kevin sighed glumly. "And the worst part is that I can totally see us in this for the long haul. I've thought about it a lot. We'd get engaged after he graduates, and then he'd work as a hall director somewhere nearby while I finished my degree. Then we'd get married and move to Orlando or wherever. I'd be an optometrist and he'd switch to something like, I don't know, academic advising, maybe. We'd adopt a few kids and buy a house with a big yard for the dogs, though I guess he'd want a stupid cat, too. He could do theatre and teach dance in his spare time, and I'd take the kids to Disney World."

He looked at the counselor and shrugged. "It sounds like a pretty nice life, doesn't it? I want that so bad, but then I think of actually _**doing**_ the stuff I'd have to do in order to make that happen, and I feel like I can't even breathe. It doesn't help that we have such different needs, um, physically. He's like the most touchy-feely person I know, and he just wants everything so much more than I do. And I…well, I grew up in one of the most oppressive religions in America, and I'm pretty sure I'm asexual. Obviously I don't handle that very well."

"Now, that tone you used just now, when you said _asexual_ ," Harry chimed in. "There's never a reason to feel bad about your orientation."

"I wouldn't say I feel bad about it," Kevin clarified. "But it's not exactly easy to deal with right now. I mean, everything Connor and I feel is so…um, different. Like when we're kissing, it's—I mean, it's nice, I guess. He likes it and it makes me feel close to him, which is great, so I always enjoy it for a while. I'll even initiate it sometimes. But after a few minutes, it just…honestly, it gets kind of dull. Meanwhile he's still really into it, and I'm just thinking, why? What are you getting out of this? Our mouths are _**not**_ that interesting. And when it comes to doing anything more, uh, well…"

Kevin squirmed. The idea of talking about all this with a middle-aged man who was basically a complete stranger seemed so weird, yet somehow the words kept tumbling out. "He really wants it to happen. He's never pressured me to go further, but it's totally obvious that's what he's looking for. And I just—sometimes I tell myself, what's the big deal? Just do it already. I mean, I want to be able to give him what he wants, so I should just go for it, right? But then when I'm there, with him, I just panic. And I don't know what to do now."

"You know, when you're talking to me, you articulate your feelings very well."

Kevin chuckled humorlessly. "Do I? I'm pretty sure I sound like a hot mess."

"Not at all. You convey your thoughts well, you really do. So, what I wonder is…" Harry's chair creaked as he leaned toward Kevin. "What if you told Connor exactly what you're telling me? There's so little communication going on between the two of you. Wouldn't you both benefit if he knew where you're coming from?"

"I can't tell Connor any of that," Kevin replied firmly.

"Why not? What's stopping you?"

Kevin frowned, mulling it over. What _**was**_ stopping him? "Uh," he began, hesitating. "I think that…if I told him how hard it's gonna be for me to come out, and that—well—that I never really want to have sex with him, I'm afraid that he's—" he swallowed a lump forming in his throat. "That he's gonna leave me."

Harry was quiet for a moment, tapping his thick fingers against his chin. "Would he leave you, though?"

Kevin shrugged. "It's a lot to put on someone, isn't it?" His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, and he looked away. "Who knows. The thing is, though, I can't even deal with all of that right now; I've got so much going on as it is."

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Y'know, this is gonna sound really dumb, but I kind of thought my life would get easier when I moved out here," he said. "Isn't that crazy? Why would things be easier for me after starting a doctorate? But I don't know, I figured that once I left Utah, once I got out of my hometown, I'd be able to grow more and reinvent myself and all that crap. But I'm actually kind of homesick. I miss my mom. And Arnold. I miss him a lot, in fact. I haven't really made any new friends here. Acquaintances, sure, but no one close. So it's been…it's been a challenge, to say the least."

"It's a process, Kevin," Harry responded. "We don't just pick up and move and leave all our problems behind. That's why people call it baggage."

Kevin smiled. "Can't I just find an airline to lose my baggage for me?" he joked lamely.

Harry chuckled a little and shook his head. "It would be nice, wouldn't it? But I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. And Kevin, I do hope you'll be careful not to try and reinvent yourself entirely. For starters, it never works, and more importantly, it isn't healthy. You don't need to become a brand new person; you have great qualities that make you a wonderful young man."

Kevin was quiet for a few minutes, staring down at his shoes. Wouldn't it be so nice to be a brand new person, though? Someone who wasn't bogged down by the failures of his past, who hadn't had a holy book shoved up his ass by a warlord and who didn't still find himself thinking about how much easier his life would be if he just had some Adderall. Someone who wasn't depressed, wasn't anxious, who didn't have a family life in shambles and who didn't have any hang-ups about being affectionate with his boyfriend. Better yet, someone who wasn't even in love with a man to begin with.

Then he faltered, because that was a huge part of the problem, wasn't it? He'd been attracted to Connor for years and was currently dating him, but still, even now, Kevin couldn't escape the fact that he never wanted to have feelings for him in the first place. He shifted in his seat, feeling guilty. Instead of dwelling on that unpleasant thought, he did what any reasonable person would do: change the subject to something else—something less damning—that had been on his mind.

"Connor's doing great, by the way," he said. "He loves his classes, loves his assistantship, he's just perfect. He's thriving, and I hate to admit it, but it kind of pisses me off. There, I said it. I mean, don't get me wrong," he quickly added. "I'm glad for him, really. He's dealt with so much shit; he deserves to finally be happy. I want him to be doing well, but why can't I have that, too? When's it going to be my turn?"

"Try not to compare your progress to others, Kevin," Harry reminded him. "Your situation is completely different from Connor's."

"I know, but sometimes it feels like I'm not making any real progress at all," Kevin complained. "I'm so stressed, all the time. I feel like I'm falling apart. Undergrad did _**not**_ prepare me for this. It's not that I don't like what I'm doing. I want to be an optometrist, I know that. I like the material, but shit, there's just so damn _**much**_ of it. I feel like all I ever do is read and study."

He slid down a little further, tucking his feet under him on the sofa. "Before, whenever I was stressed, I'd usually cook something or walk my dogs, but I don't even have time for that anymore," he said. "I have to take Bailey and Poptart to doggie daycare a few times a week or they go crazy. By the way, doggie daycare is freaking expensive. But hey, let's just add it to my student loan debt, because it's not like I'm panicking about how quickly that's gonna pile up. It's just one thing after another, and I'm so tired. I'm tired of all the reading, I'm tired of all the homework—I have to use eyedrops every few hours just to keep up with all the work I have to do for—get this—the dry eye study I was assigned to," he snorted. "Freaking ironic, isn't it? Connor's not dealing with any of that. I mean, sure, he has a lot of work to do. But he isn't on the verge of breaking down. Hell, he's not even really struggling with sobriety. Like I said, he's doing great. With everything. And I…I really shouldn't be jealous of him, but I am. I want to be doing great too, and it doesn't look like I'm gonna get to that point anytime soon."

"But you don't necessarily know exactly how Connor is doing," Harry countered. "If he were here in my office right now instead of you, do you think he would really be telling me everything was sunshine and roses? That he isn't having any issues with his sobriety whatsoever? I have my doubts. Like I said, you shouldn't compare your situation to his. You can't read his mind; you don't know how he really feels."

Kevin stared toward the window, nibbling his bottom lip. "I guess," he murmured. "You're right; I can't read his mind." _And thank God he can't read mine._

* * *

_That Night_

With a plunk, Poptart unapologetically scooted up from his spot near Bailey (who was snoozing away at the foot of the bed) and dropped himself right by Kevin's stomach. Kevin reached over to pet him, but never took his eyes off his boyfriend. Connor was sitting beside him with his back propped against the headboard, eyes glued to a small textbook in his hand. _Learning Partnerships_ , the cover read, though the Kevin couldn't see the name of the author.

After about a minute, Connor glanced over to find Kevin staring, and he furrowed his brow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kevin replied with a shrug. "I just really like you."

Connor faltered, blinking uncertainty, before his face softened into a smile. He tossed his book onto the nightstand and leaned over to give Kevin a quick kiss. Then he resituated himself, lying on his side facing Kevin.

"You're incredible," he said, and when Kevin replied with "I know," Connor playfully rolled his eyes and smacked Kevin's arm.

Kevin laughed. "So guess what? Earlier today I found out that Brynn was a total horse girl growing up," he commented. "She read all the horse girl books and had horse posters and everything. Her aunt and uncle live near Milwaukee and own a stable, so she would go visit them and ride this horse named Dusty everywhere and compete with him and stuff. She still goes there sometimes."

"She does?" Connor shuddered. "That's disgusting."

"Well we don't all have an irrational fear of horses like you, Con," he replied with a grin. "I've never been to Wisconsin, have you?"

"Yeah, I was there in February," Connor said. "That's how I got my assistantship, remember? Through the placement exchange in Oshkosh. Never been to Milwaukee, though. We did go to Detroit on vacation when I was twelve. That's not too far away from there, is it? Within half a day's drive, I think."

"Your family took a vacation to Detroit?" Kevin arched his brows. "Y'all never visited Orlando, but you decided to go to _**Detroit**_?"

"Well it wasn't our first choice," Connor admitted. "But my dad had a work conference there and my mom was tired of being stuck at home, so we all packed our bags and went with him."

"I didn't know exterminators had conferences."

"Oh yeah." Connor smirked. "All these vendors show up and you learn the latest and greatest ways to eliminate termites. It's positively thrilling. I can't believe you've never been to one."

"You know, we should go with Brynn next time she visits her aunt and uncle. Or maybe we should go horseback riding sometime around here. There's a lot of trails in the area."

Connor quickly balked. "Hell no."

"Aww, come on. It's a lot of fun. You need to conquer your fears."

"Or I could _**not**_ conquer my fears, and stay as far away from those terrifying beasts as possible."

Kevin shook his head. "You're so weird," he said. "You'll go to a bug-killing conference with your dad, but you think horses are gross and scary? Didn't you do a summer playhouse in a town with a Pony Express museum?"

"I never went to that museum," Connor quipped.

"Too scary for you?" Kevin snickered. "What would you have done if you were alive back then? Just never got your mail?"

Connor let out something in between a snort and a laugh and pushed back from Kevin a little. "Okay, I'm not the weird one here, darling," he pointed out. "You pitched a fit once after Brynn came home with Country Crock butter, because—and I quote— _if it's not Land O'Lakes, then what's even the point_?"

"Yeah, well, I still stand by that statement. And back in Uganda, _**you**_ said that when you were younger, you used to fantasize about swimming in the ocean with that Steve guy. And then it turns out that you don't even know how to swim at all. So there."

"Like you've never imagined yourself doing something you can't actually do," Connor challenged.

"No, I've never done that. Wanna know why? Because I'm good at everything."

Connor laughed. "Bullshit. So then why did I get a D in College Algebra, huh? If you're so good at everything, then wouldn't your SI sessions have saved my grade?"

"Hey, I was an awesome SI leader," Kevin replied. "You would've flat-out failed that class if it weren't for me."

"No you weren't. You were too distracting, standing up there looking all hot with your whiteboard and marker and that damn graphing calculator on the document camera."

"You have a thing for teachers, don't you?"

Connor grinned mischievously. "Kind of," he said. "The only thing you were missing was a pair of glasses. You should get some."

"I have twenty-twenty vision; I don't need classes." Kevin then glanced over at the abandoned textbook on the nightstand and smirked. "You might, though. You were holding that book about twenty miles from your face."

"For your information, the fact that I _**can**_ hold it out like that and still read it probably means I have good vision."

"Or it means you're farsighted," Kevin countered. "Have you ever noticed what you usually do when you get a text? You look at up your phone, get this confused sort of squinty look on your face, and then hold it way out like this." Kevin demonstrated the expression and gesture as best he could. "I swear, you look just like my grandma."

"Are you calling me an old man?"

"That's exactly what I'm doing," he joked. "But seriously, Con, you should get your eyes checked out."

"You paying?"

"Use some of your loan money," Kevin suggested. "It's not like you're wasting it; your vision's pretty damn important. If you're gonna make it through school, you should probably be able to see, don't you think?"

"I can see right now," Connor said stubbornly. "Well enough to get by, at least. I don't have vision insurance; it would cost a fortune. Tell you what; I'll make do until you graduate, and then you can give me a discount. How's that sound?"

"That's four years from now. Your eyes will have fallen out of your head by then."

Connor did a double-take at that statement, and then burst out laughing. "Is _**that**_ what's gonna happen? Did they teach you that in optometry school?"

"Yep, we learned that last week," he answered with a playful smile. "This week we learned that glaucoma can be cured by pouring vinegar directly into your eyes twice a day for a whole month."

"Honey, I hate to break it to you, but you're gonna be a really shitty eye doctor." They were both quiet for a minute or two, until Connor reached over and gave Poptart a scratch on the ear.

"So, I spoke to Chris today," he said. "I guess we should quit calling him Poptarts and Toaster Strudel now, right? Since he's, like, married and adulting and all now. Anyway, he and Jami found out they're having a boy. They're gonna name him Derek."

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah?"

"Yep. Derek Orion Thomas."

"That's perfect." He beamed. "Aww, you're gonna be an uncle. Is Jami having a baby shower?"

"I think so. Not right away, but closer to her due date."

Kevin _hmm_ ed under his breath. "It probably won't be during a time we could feasibly go back to Utah, will it? We should give them something anyway. What should we get them? I don't want it to be something stupid and generic, like a onesie."

Connor shrugged. "I'll probably make something cute and crafty. Maybe a frame for the ultrasound picture." He flashed Kevin a devilish little smile. "You can give him that ugly otter in the box under your bed."

Kevin snorted. "Fuck you; Oliver is _**my**_ childhood stuffed animal, and I plan on giving him to _**my**_ first kid."

"Do you really?" Poptart rolled over, and Connor began rubbing his belly. "That's sweet, actually."

"Don't you have anything from your past that you're saving for your kids?" Kevin asked. He sat up a little, curious.

"Not really. Hell, I'm not even sure I'll be having kids."

Kevin blinked, surprised. "You don't want kids?"

Connor sighed. "Honestly, I don't know," he said, and Kevin frowned in confusion.

"How can you not know?" he demanded. "You either want them or you don't; it's a pretty cut and dry concept, isn't it?"

Connor chuckled. "Not really," he said. "Growing up, I never really thought about whether I wanted them or not. I spent all my energy focusing on what I was supposed to do and ignoring what I wanted to do. I was supposed to go on my mission, and once I completed that and proved I was worthy Heavenly Father would cure me for good, and then I would meet a nice girl, get married, and have children. The standard Mormon life-script. Now I…" He drifted off and shrugged. "I really don't know. Sometimes it's hard to separate what I really want from the shit I might still be internalizing."

He pulled away from Poptart and looked back over at Kevin. "I might want kids; I don't know," he added. "It seems kind of unlikely, though, doesn't it? It's not like I'm gonna be knocking anyone up anytime soon."

"You could use a surrogate," Kevin pointed out. "Or adopt. I could totally see you adopting kids. You'd be an amazing father."

Connor faltered. "You honestly think so?"

"Of course I do. Your kids would love you." _Our kids would love you. Just like I love you. Except maybe I_ **don't** _love you, because you're freaking terrifying._

Laying here right now, however, with Connor and his dogs at his side, it was hard to remember just what was so anxiety-inducing about his boyfriend. There was no pressure in this moment; Connor wasn't expecting anything from him other than for Kevin to just lie there blissfully beside him, and honestly, Kevin found that to be the greatest feeling in the world.

 _You should probably kiss him right now_ , he told himself. It would be the perfect opportunity for it to progress to something more, wouldn't it? Didn't they always say that you should do it when the time felt right? And this was probably as right as it was going to get for Kevin. Brynn was out, they had the apartment to themselves, and neither had anywhere specific to be early the next morning, so it was basically ideal, right?

Except the dogs were right there, and Kevin had absolutely no desire to have sex in front of them. Sure, he could send them to the living room, but when, exactly? What was the natural progression of these situations? Start making out and then, what, just drop your pants and get busy? He ignored the tiny, chastising voice in the back of his mind telling him that he was in his mid-twenties and probably should have figured this out a long time ago, and instead he tried to focus all his thoughts on Connor. Connor had done this before; he knew how it worked. He could guide them through it now. Kevin would just have to trust him with this.

He could do that, couldn't he?

"Kevin?" He jerked out of reverie to find Connor watching him with concern. "Sweetie, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just…tired."

Kevin didn't kiss him, didn't shoo the dogs out, didn't try to take this any further. Instead, he just nestled a little closer, resting his head on the pillow right next to Connor's shoulder, and tried to tell himself that it would be fine. He wouldn't ruin this. Sure, maybe he'd chickened out tonight, but he'd do it eventually, and then everything would be fine.

It had to be, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and let me know your thoughts! Sorry for the delay in this. Between family issues and illness and writer's block, updates have been slow. I'll try to get the next one up quicker!


	52. Bighorn Sheep Can't Live in Tanks

_**Grad School, Year One** _

**Chapter 52: Bighorn Sheep Can't Live in Tanks**

_Warning: mild smut and somewhat dubious consent_

* * *

Kevin didn't even try to stifle his yawn as he flipped on the coffee maker and then dug around in the kitchen cabinet for his mug. The machine had been Kevin's addition to Connor's tiny kitchen; how his boyfriend survived without the caffeinated nectar of the gods Kevin would never know. Locating his Utah Starbucks mug in the cabinet (because Connor had terrible priorities and apparently didn't own any mugs either), he set it on the counter and sprinkled in some cream and sugar. Before the coffee finished brewing, however, Kevin heard a stir and a hiss of pain from the bedroom and let out a sigh.

The space was practically microscopic, Kevin only had to take about five steps to get from the kitchen to the open bedroom door. Over the summer Connor had made a passing comment that it was too bad campus housing didn't allow pets; otherwise Kevin could've just lived with him in his Residential Life-assigned apartment. In reality, Kevin imagined, they probably would've killed each other if they'd tried to cram in here. Now, he leaned against the doorframe and clicked his tongue disapprovingly, watching as Connor halfway sat up in bed, his face set in a grimace.

"Lay back down," Kevin ordered.

"I can't," Connor replied. "I've got things to do—"

"You're not going to your office. Don't even think about it."

"But I don't have time to—"

Kevin sighed impatiently. "You just had  _ **surgery**_ , Connor."

Connor shrugged, settling back just a little and propping himself up with his elbows. "An appendectomy barely even counts as surgery nowadays," he said. "They didn't even keep me overnight."

"I don't care if you were discharged; you still have to follow the doctor's orders," Kevin reasoned. He stepped forward and perched himself on the edge of the bed, bemused by his boyfriend's stubbornness. "She specifically said to take it easy today, and you can go back to class and such tomorrow if you're feeling up to it, as long as you're being really careful and not lifting anything heavy. No strenuous physical activity before your follow-up in a week."

That also meant no sex, the doctor had pointed out, a fact which Kevin may have felt just a little too relieved about. He tried not to think about that part.

"You lost an organ, Connor," he added. "I think that warrants a day off, don't you?"

"A  _ **worthless**_  organ," Connor muttered. He settled all the way back down on the bed, his head flopping back against the pillow, and let out a frustrated grumble. "I was supposed to be on duty today. I'm  _ **not**_  supposed to get appendicitis while on duty."

Kevin snorted. "Right? What were you thinking?" he said. "I can't believe you didn't schedule your appendicitis for a more convenient time. That was really inconsiderate of you."

Connor pointedly ignored his quip. "Why do we even have an organ that does absolutely nothing and then has a meltdown without a moment's notice? It's ridiculous," he complained. He lifted his hand toward his face and then suddenly winced once more. "And why the hell does my shoulder hurt?"

"Leftover traces of the carbon dioxide they inflated your stomach with in the surgery," Kevin explained. "It travels upward when you sit up, but it should go away in the next day or so."

Connor stilled and blanched, his eyes warily meeting Kevin's. "What do you mean they  _ **inflated**_  my stomach?"

"Well yeah, they always do that. It's so they can move the camera thing around and actually see where they have to go. The doctor told you all this."

"Did she? I think the drugs blocked all that from my memory." Connor said, then wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Ugh, appendectomies are disgusting. Surely by now they've discovered a way to just make people be born with no appendix to begin with. Why aren't they putting that into practice? Scientists are a bunch of dicks."

Kevin just chuckled and shook his head, and Connor gazed at him with a pensive look. "You know," he continued. "I'm pretty sure no one said you couldn't go anywhere."

"Well, my morning class is cancelled," Kevin explained. "The professor's at a conference. Why, do you want me to leave?"

"No," Connor replied a little too quickly. "No, stay here."

Kevin laughed. "I can do that," he said, reaching forward and linking their hands together. "I don't have anything until this afternoon, so you're not getting rid of me until then. And it's a good thing, too. I practically had to drag you to the hospital; you probably would've let your appendix explode if it wasn't for me."

Connor grinned. "It'd make for a pretty good story though, wouldn't it?"

"I guess, but only if you were alive to tell it."

"True," Connor sighed. His head drooped slightly to the side, his eyes slowly drifting shut. "God, I'm so tired," he murmured. "I hate being tired."

Kevin smiled, pulling his hand away and running it soothingly through Connor's hair. "I know you do. But just try to unwind, okay?"

"I've got things to do...a chapter to read for Intro...and, um…" Connor trailed off, having apparently lost his train of thought since he was already halfway to dozing.

Kevin kept stroking his hair as Connor slowly drifted off into a deeper sleep.  _I was so worried about you_ , he thought.  _I knew you weren't gonna die, that you'd recover just fine, and I was_ **still** _worried about you._

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and pulled it out to see Arnold's name alight on the screen. After giving Connor a quick kiss on the forehead, he stepped back into the kitchen and answered the call.

"Hey, buddy," he said.

"Best friend!" Kevin winced as Arnold's loud voice pierced through the speaker. "I haven't talked to you in forever! Man, I've missed you! Hey, how's Connor?"

"He's fine." Kevin poured some of the now-finished coffee into his mug and chose not to point out that they'd spoken a mere two days ago. "He asleep right now."

"Good, good! So...did they let him keep his appendix?"

"What?" Kevin frowned. "No, that was the whole point of the surgery. To get it out."

"Well duh, I know that," Arnold replied with a giggle. "But does he still have it? Like, in a jar or something?"

Kevin almost choked on his coffee. "No," he said slowly after swallowing a sip. "No, he doesn't still have it in a jar."

"Aww, man!" Arnold wailed. "Dang it, I was hoping I could touch it. I've never touched an internal organ, have you? You mean they wouldn't let him keep it at all?"

"I don't think he asked, Arn."

"Really? Weird. Seems like something your average person would ask. So, uh, are you still coming to Utah over Fall Break? Will you have time to see me?"

Kevin maneuvered into the living room, settling on the uncomfortable university-issued couch. "Oh, I'll definitely make time for you, pal," he said. "Deb's wedding reception is Friday evening, but I won't be coming back until Sunday so I've got a whole day wide open."

"Awesome! I think this is the longest we've ever been apart and it totally sucks. And hey, Naba's Fall Break is two weeks later, so we're probably gonna go visit you guys! We wanna check out the apartments and job market and all that boring stuff. Could we do that?"

"Hold on." Kevin pulled his phone away from his ear and shot off a quick text to Brynn asking her to feed the dogs, and then returned to the conversation.

"Mid-October? Yeah, totally," he answered. "Are you wanting to stay with me and Brynn? We don't have an extra bed, but I'm pretty sure Mom has a queen air mattress in storage somewhere. I could dig it out when I'm there and bring it back. Shit, unless Dad has it—no I'm pretty sure it's at Mom's; I specifically remember seeing it when I helped her move in with Hal—"

"Dude, I don't want to sleep in an air mattress! I wanna sleep in your bed."

"Where's Naba gonna sleep?" Kevin asked. "I mean, I guess you two can have my bed and I can stay with Connor."

"No, I'll sleep with you and Naba can stay with Connor," Arnold declared. "It's been way too long since I've cuddled with my bestie."

Kevin chuckled and shook his head, perplexed. "If that's really what you both wanna do," he said. "Just don't rent at our complex, okay? It's kind of ugly and outdated, and our next-door neighbors are undergrads that go crazy every game day while I'm pretty sure our downstairs neighbors are crack dealers. I mean, it's cheap, allows pets, and is super close to our side of campus so it works for us, but if Naba gets a nursing job then you guys can totally afford something better."

"I mean, none of that really sounds like a dealbreaker to me, but okay," Arnold replied. "Naba wants to look at a lot of different places. This is gonna be so exciting! You'll have to show us all the cool things in Bloomington!"

"I honestly couldn't tell you what those are," Kevin said dryly after another sip of coffee. "I'm sure they exist, but I don't have much of a life here outside of work and school. I know some neat restaurants, but that's about it."

"That's okay! I don't have a life either, outside of work and Naba and the Internet. And dude, you're getting a doctorate! That's super badass, so it's not like you're a loser if it takes up all your time. Just think, in a few years you'll be Dr. Price. Look at you, being all ambitious and accomplishing things like the Slytherin you are. Awesome!"

"Oh my God, we went over this is Orlando," Kevin huffed. "I'm not a Slytherin, Arnold."

"You're definitely a Slytherin, buddy."

"No, I'm not." He set his mug on the coffee table in front of him. "Slytherins are the bad guys. I'm a Gryffindor."

"Naba's a Gryffindor; you're a Slytherin," Arnold corrected." And you didn't pick up on the subtleties of that series  _ **at all**_ , did you? Slytherins aren't all bad guys, they're ambitious! They wanna change the world! See, this is what happens when you only watch the movies, Kevin."

"Whatever. I took that test you sent me and it said I was a Gryffindor, so there."

"Uh huh, how many times did you take it to get that result?" When Kevin stubbornly refused to reply, Arnold pressed on, "That's what I thought. What's your personality type thing?"

"INTJ."

"Yep. Total Slytherin. But hey, you should be proud of your house! Like me! I'm a Hufflepuff, and you hardly ever hear about them. But that doesn't bother me. Hufflepuff pride! What house is Connor in?"

"I don't know. I think he said that sometimes he's a Ravenclaw and other times a Hufflepuff, depending on the questions asked."

"A Ravenpuff." Kevin could practically see Arnold nodding thoughtfully. "That's rare."

"Sure, I suppose." Kevin couldn't help but smile as he spoke. "But then he also said that he doesn't really believe in the Hogwarts sorting system because it basically goes against what he's learning in student development theory, since you're taking impressionable young kids and sticking them with a bunch of other kids just like them and encouraging them to play up those qualities of themselves while suppressing other positive qualities, all the while seeing people with different traits as the competition. Seriously, he says it exactly like that, lack of punctuation at all."

"Really? Huh. That's a mouthful. And I mean, I guess he's not wrong but… it sounds an awful lot like something a muggle would say."

"Mmhm." Kevin paused and glanced toward the bedroom where Connor was still sound asleep, wondering if he should bring up something that had been weighing on his mind.

"Hey, Arn, can I ask you something?" he began tentatively. "How did you and Naba decide it was time to...y'know, do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know, like…" he shifted, slightly embarrassed. "Taking the next step in your relationship."

"The next step? You mean like kids?" Arnold let out a nervous laugh. "Oh man, that's not gonna be for a while. We only just got married!"

"No, I'm talking about sex, Arnold," Kevin blurted out, his face reddening. "Way back when, how did the two of you decide you were ready?"

"Ooohh," Arnold drawled, comprehension dawning on him. "Well, I don't know. She just texted me saying she was ready to do it, so we, well, did it."

"But how did you know you wanted to?"

"Why  _ **wouldn't**_  I want to? Naba's awesome, Kev. She's smart and caring and funny and hot, and I totally love her. Of course I wanted to!"

"Right. Of course," Kevin murmured. Because that was a totally normal response, right? That's how you were supposed to feel when someone you were in love with wanted to have sex with you. That's how Kevin should've been feeling. Maybe he still could, if he tried hard enough.

"Hey, buddy, I have to get going," he told Arnold. "I've got some work to do."

"You're planning to have the sex with Connor, aren't you?" Arnold said knowingly. "You should wait until he's recovered from his surgery. Or at least until he wakes up."

Kevin sputtered. "I know that—that's not what I—look, I'll talk to you later, okay?"

They said their goodbyes, and Kevin looked down at his phone to see a response from Brynn.  _Already fed them_ , it read.  _Get your ass home to walk them when you're done making sure Connor isn't dead_.

Kevin snorted and pocketed his phone, then made his way back into the bedroom and set his coffee on the nightstand. Rummaging through his bookbag on the floor, he then pulled out a textbook and highlighter and curled up next to Connor, hoping to get at least a couple hours of productivity in before he had to leave.

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

Kevin barely received a second glance from the residence hall staff as he made his way toward Connor's office. Honestly, he still thought it was slightly crazy that Connor even had his own office as a graduate assistant. Sure, he had to have someplace private to hold conduct meetings and RA evaluations, but still. Connor had teasingly pointed out that Kevin was probably just jealous that he didn't have his own office, a statement which Kevin had denied perhaps a little too vehemently.

He stood in the doorframe of that office now, watching as Connor—who had been fully recovered from his surgery for several days now—sat at his cluttered desk talking on the phone. Kevin hovered awkwardly where he was, wondering if he should come inside or leave him be. Connor then spotted him, smiled, and motioned him forward.

"Okay, no, absolutely not. I talked to them yesterday; they can't have a goat in their room," Connor was saying. Kevin took a seat in one of the guest chairs, bemused. "Yeah, I know it's a baby, but they still can't have it. They know the rules; no pets that can't survive in a ten-gallon or smaller water tank. That includes goats. It's supposed to be gone by now, anyway. They were told to have it out of the building by this morning."

After a pause, Connor sighed impatiently. "I don't know where they're gonna put it, Alicia, but they can't have it here. And honestly, I know they're lying about it being a baby goat. I'm like ninety-five percent sure it's actually a bighorn sheep, and that sure as hell isn't staying here...well, you're gonna have to write them up."

Connor sighed once again after the person on the other line responded. "Yes, I'll take care of it, but I want you to write them up first. Because this is what we talked about; you need to practice your assertiveness. This job is gonna be really difficult for you if you can't—okay, Alicia, hon, don't cry." He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, it's fine, just...no, I'm not yelling at you...no, I'm not mad you...no, I'm not gonna fire you. Just—look, just take a deep breath and calm down, okay? I'll be up in a few minutes to talk to them. How's that sound?"

Kevin glanced around the office as Connor finished the call. He'd only been in here once before, right after Connor had begun working. The place was much brighter now; the walls plastered with an eclectic collection of old hallway and door decorations—some from his RAs, and others that he had made himself back at Weber State. It was quite the contrast from his personal apartment, where he didn't even have so much as a framed photograph. He'd done the same thing in Uganda, Kevin recalled; he went to great lengths to brighten up the kitchen and living room in the mission hut while his side of the room he and Chris shared remained nearly empty. He'd always been far more concerned with decorating for others than he was for himself.

Connor finally hung up the phone and faced Kevin with a wry smile. "Don't I have the best team of RAs?" he quipped.

Kevin grinned. "Suddenly, I don't look so bad anymore, do I?"

Connor let out a short hum under his breath "No, you were still a crappy RA," he replied, and Kevin rolled his eyes. "I shouldn't complain, though. Most of them are great. And Alicia's sweet. Too sweet, actually; that's the problem. But we're working on it."

"Where exactly did someone find a baby bighorn sheep in Indiana?"

"Craigslist," Connor said shortly, pushing aside some of the many papers scattered across his desk. "So what're you doing here, anyway? Not that I'm complaining, but, well, what're you doing here?"

Kevin shrugged. "I was just in the neighborhood and figured I'd stop by," he said airily, and Connor quirked an eyebrow.

"Darling, my building is clear across campus from yours," he pointed out. "There's no way you were just in the neighborhood."

"It's not quite  _ **clear**_  across campus."

"Whatever. This campus is freaking huge, and I know for a fact that the only places you ever go besides the optometry building are the health center for you counseling sessions—which you didn't have scheduled for today—and occasionally the union for your coffee fix. You know, I don't understand why you didn't just get a job at the Starbucks on campus."

"Because the one on 46 is open longer and gives me better hours," Kevin said. "And for your information I also go to the library sometimes, so there."

Connor chuckled and shook his head. "Okay. Well anyway, why did you come here, sweetie?"

Kevin swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. It was now or never, right? He'd been wavering back and forth on this forever; might as well suck it up and just come right out with it.

Self-consciously, he stood up and shut the door, and then took a deep breath and looked Connor straight in the eye.

"I want to have sex with you," he blurted out.

His face reddened as soon as the words tumbled from his mouth. Shit, he'd actually said it. There was no taking it back now. But did he even want to take it back? What the hell was he supposed to do now? He breathed in another slow, steadying breath and faced Connor for guidance.

Connor merely looked stunned, and more than a little confused. "Um...I mean I'd love to, but I'm at work," he said. "I'm about go yell at those students about the sheep, and then I have a conduct meeting with a guy who took a shit in the third floor hallway."

"Well not right now, obviously," Kevin quickly amended, his face feeling even hotter than it was before. "But, um...I don't know, maybe, like, tonight or something?" He eyed Connor helplessly, silently pleading that he could handle this better than Kevin obviously was.

"Are you sure about this?" Connor asked skeptically, head tilted.

"Of course I am." _As sure as I'll ever be, I guess_. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Okay, that might've sounded a bit too defensive. Connor gave a little shrug in response.

"No reason," he said. "You've just never brought it up before."

"Well I wasn't ready before. And now I am." Probably. Maybe.

No, there wasn't any maybe about it. Kevin  _ **was**_  ready. He had to be, after all, because despite Connor's thoughtful hesitation, there was no hiding the eager gleam in his eyes. He was obviously thrilled about this turn of events.

"Okay," Connor said now, mouth quirking up into a smile. "Okay, tonight, sure. Want to meet up around, say, seven? We can get dinner somewhere and then head back to my place."

Kevin brightened. "Can we got to that pizza place on Kirkwood?"

Connor actually laughed out loud at that, and Kevin had no idea what was so amusing about his question, but oh well. "Sure, Kev," he said. "We'll go to the pizza place on Kirkwood." With a quick glance toward the door, he added, "So why'd you have to shut the door for this?"

"You really want any of your colleagues walking by and hearing me talk about having sex with you?" Kevin asked, eyebrows raised.

Connor smirked. "I mean, you're really hot, so maybe," he said, and Kevin rolled his eyes.

"I see they didn't take your shitty sense of humor when they took your appendix," he replied dryly. "Anyway, I've gotta get to class."

"Mm hm. And it's gonna take you at least twenty minutes to get down there, since you came all the way up here to ask me if I wanna get laid tonight." Connor grinned. "You could've just texted, y'know."

Kevin snorted. "Whatever. Don't you have to steal an animal from some unsuspecting undergrads?"

"I do have to steal an animal from some unsuspecting undergrads. Don't open that yet," Connor said, and Kevin pulled his hand away from the door handle.

Connor then stood up and crossed around the desk, draping his arms around Kevin's neck and pulling him in for a deep kiss. After a little while he pulled away, whispered "I'll see you this evening, hon," against Kevin's lips, and then opened the door and strolled out with a slight spring in his step. Kevin lingered dumbly where he was for a few seconds, before shaking his head.

Well, there was no going back now.

* * *

_That Night_

All right, this wasn't so bad.

Kevin was lying on his back in Connor's bed while Connor straddled his hips, nipping and sucking at the skin above Kevin's collarbone. Okay, maybe Kevin was shirtless and felt a little too vulnerable, and maybe he wasn't sure exactly what he should be doing right now so he just rested his hands on Connor's back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to steady his rapid heartbeat. But Connor's mouth felt familiar and his fingers were currently raking through Kevin's hair, which was nice, so it really wasn't as bad as Kevin feared.

So what if Connor was perhaps a little too eager for his liking, or if the blatantly obvious bulge in his pants as he ground his hips against Kevin's made it clear just how badly he wanted this? It was fine. Kevin could handle this. Some of the dumbest people on the planet managed to have sex; surely it couldn't be that difficult.

Connor pulled back and trailed his hands along Kevin's sides. "God, you're so unbelievably gorgeous," he murmured. "Just look at you. How'd I get so lucky?"

 _Gee, I don't know. I'm an emotional mess, at least twenty pounds heavier than I was in high school, and I'm not even sure I want to be here right now. How_ **did** _you get so lucky?_ Of course, Kevin didn't say any of that. Instead, he stroked the hair on the back of Connor's head and replied, "You're pretty great yourself, you know."

Because he was. He was caring, sassy, funny, and the view in front of Kevin right now—Connor hovering over him with his shirt unbuttoned, gazing down at him with lust and hunger and sheer delight in his eyes—was both beautiful and terrifying. Before Connor could respond, Kevin leaned up and captured his mouth in a kiss. They stayed like that for a while before Connor pushed him back against the mattress and planted his lips just below Kevin's jaw.

This was fine; Kevin could do this. He could lay there, looking pretty while Connor kissed and licked his way down Kevin's neck and his chest. Just then, Connor deftly unbuttoned his pants and slipped a hand inside Kevin's boxers. Shit, no, maybe Kevin  _ **couldn't**_ do this. He gasped, his entire body tensing.

"Relax, honey," Connor whispered, his fingers lightly caressing Kevin's bush. Okay, that actually felt pretty good. Kevin's breathing had just steadied out a bit when Connor gave some of the hair a quick, gentle tug and then wrapped his hand around the base of his penis. Kevin froze and let out an involuntary yelp.

Connor quickly pulled his hand away and eyed him with concern. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Kevin mentally berated himself for his reaction and forced an encouraging smile on his face.

Connor clicked his tongue, clearly unconvinced. "Sweetie, we don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"What? No, of course I do." This was not how tonight was supposed to go; Kevin wasn't supposed to fuck this up. How could it be this difficult? It was just like Arnold had said; Kevin loved Connor and Connor obviously wanted this, so why wouldn't Kevin want to have sex with him? He wasn't going to let his asexuality—or whatever the hell his problem was—ruin their relationship. He could still fix this.

"Of course I do," he repeated. "I was just, um, nervous. But it's fine, you can, uh, go back to what you were doing, I guess."

But Connor was shaking his head as he shifted off of Kevin and sat next to him on the bed. "You don't have to worry, hon. I'm not gonna be offended if you've changed your mind about—"

"I'm not the one worrying here," Kevin snapped. "Look I told you it was fine, so can we just get this over with?"

Connor abruptly stilled, a steely look crossing over his features. Well damn, that was definitely  _ **not**_  the reaction Kevin was going for. He looked down at Kevin with one eyebrow raised. "Get this over with?" he repeated flatly.

"Shit no, I didn't mean…that's not...I just—"

"Uh huh, okay then," Connor cut off his flustered stammering and crossed his arms. "So what  _ **did**_  you mean?"

"I don't know," Kevin said, at a lost. "It's just, I agreed to this and you clearly want to do it. So why wait any longer? Let's just do it already, get it done and we'll both feel better afterwards. Right?"

Connor was eyeing him with his lips pressed in a thin line, obviously unimpressed with his explanation. "Right," he said. "Sounds an awful lot like  _get it over with_. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You're reading way too much into this."

"Oh, am I?" Connor quipped, buttoning up his shirt. "Well gee, sorry if my feelings aren't fitting into your agenda. I wasn't aware that fucking me was just something for you to check off your relationship to-do list."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Can you not be so crude? You know that's not what I meant." A tiny voice in Kevin's brain reminded him that, in a way, it was actually fairly accurate. He shoved that thought aside as best he could and added, "I was just trying to say that I had already agreed to do it, so obviously I was fine, and since we're here now I figured we might as well finish the job, okay?"

"Except you clearly weren't fine with it," Connor shot back. "And you'd already agreed? Finish the job? You didn't sign a freaking contract with me, Kevin. I don't think of sex as something you do just for the sake of getting it done, okay? And I wouldn't have expected you to, either. It's a bonding experience, as cliché as that sounds. A meaningful act with someone you care about."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure it was real meaningful when you were getting your dick sucked in gay bars."

The words were out of Kevin's mouth before he knew it. Connor flinched as if he'd just slapped him across the face, and Kevin knew instantly that he'd really, truly fucked up.

"Connor," he pleaded. "Connor, babe, I didn't mean that."

Connor kept his eyes glued to the bedspread. "You're saying a lot of things you don't mean tonight, aren't you?" His voice was tight with a shaky edge to it, and Kevin winced. "I think it's time for you to leave."

Kevin fastened his pants and sat up. "Okay," he relented, collecting his shirt from the foot of the bed, where it had been discarded. "If you think that's best. But Con, please, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. It's not like I think you're—I was annoyed and it just slipped out...I didn't mean—"

"I know." Connor still wouldn't look at Kevin, and shit, that really hurt. "Just...go home. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Kevin swallowed the lump forming in his throat and pulled his shirt on over his head. "All right," he said. He stood up, put on his shoes, and then paused, wondering what sort of goodbye would be appropriate right now.

Tentatively, he reached out to place a hand on Connor's shoulder, and Connor immediately recoiled from his touch. Kevin sighed.

"Take care, Con," he said sadly, before picking up his bag and heading toward the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

An hour after Kevin left, Connor was doing what any rational person would do: stewing about the situation and fuming about it to his best friend over the phone.

"I mean seriously, Naba, you should've been there," he was saying. "Well no, you shouldn't have  _ **actually**_  been there; that would've been really awkward, but anyway, he was awful. Saying we had to get it over with was bad enough, but then throwing my past in my face like that? Who exactly is  _ **he**_  to judge me, anyway? What a self-righteous freaking prick. Seriously, why am I even dating him?"

Naba had been patiently listening to him rant for about ten minutes, but now she sighed. "He shouldn't have said that about your, well, previous encounters," she said. "He was being an ass. But honestly, Connor, I think you are overreacting."

Before he could say anything in response, she quickly continued, "It sounds like he knew you wanted to sleep with him, and he rushed into it before he was ready to make you happy. It was a shitty idea and he handled it terribly, but I don't think you need to be as upset as you are."

Connor chewed his bottom lip as he mulled over her words. "I am overreacting," he admitted. "I know that. But the thing is, Naba, it's not just about what happened tonight. If that were the only thing then this wouldn't be a problem; Lord knows it's not the worst experience I've ever had in bed."

He snorted and added, "No, it's just...I'm starting to think he's not really into this. I mean, he still won't come out to his family. He doesn't want anyone in his program to know we're dating. He's just so on edge about everything with us. How exactly is that supposed to make me feel?"

He leaned back on the couch and ran a hand through his hair. "And honestly—y'know, I haven't brought this up to him because it kind makes me feel like an asshole for even thinking it, but why the hell is it taking him so long to be okay with us having sex? Look, I get it, being raised in the Mormon Church can really fuck a person up in that area, but he's twenty-five years old. Surely he should be ready by now?"

He laughed humorlessly. "God, that makes me sound like such a dick, doesn't it? Who am I to dictate when he should be ready to be intimate with someone? He probably knew I felt that way, and that's why he rushed into it tonight. And you know, maybe if he was more open with people about us, it wouldn't bother me as much. It's just...it's stressful. Really, really stressful."

Naba was quiet for a while, so long that Connor actually wondered if the call had been disconnected. Just as he was about to check his screen, though, she spoke. "Connor—"

"Look, I know what you're gonna say," he cut her off, suddenly inexplicably defensive. "Kevin's great, and I need to be patient with him. We make a good couple and he cares about me. I've heard it before. But  _ **does**_ he, though? Does he really?"

"He does, Connor. He is smitten with you. But that is not what I was going to say. I love both you and Kevin, and I like seeing the two of you happy together. But...if you don't think it is working, then you cannot lead him on."

"You're saying I should break up with him?" The idea filled him with an odd, uncomfortable combination of dread and relief.

"Not necessarily," she clarified. "But I think you have a lot of reflection to do about how this relationship is going. Do not be rash; think long and hard about what you want and what you need. And if it turns out that being with Kevin is not working for you...well, then you have to end it. Sooner rather than later. Don't let him get more invested than he already is. That is not fair to either of you."

"And don't be afraid to talk to him about this," she added. "You two don't talk enough. Not about the important things, anyway."

"That's easier said than done," he muttered. Because truth be told, Connor didn't have long, serious conversations about these sorts of things with his romantic partners. He didn't have to; he hadn't had an actual committed relationship since Ira, and look how well that turned out. And now he was with Kevin, the man he'd pined after for six years, and talking could mean saying the wrong thing, which could upset Kevin and ruin everything.

Of course, he knew Naba was right. Not talking about their feelings obviously wasn't getting them anywhere. But that didn't make it less daunting.

"Look, Connor, just try talking to him," Naba encouraged. "I have a feeling it will not be as bad as you think."

"Easy for you to say," he countered. "I'm talking to the woman happily married to her first love, after all."

"Oh, things are not always perfect between me and Arnold," she said. "Believe me. Do you know what it's like to wake up in the middle of the night to an Arnold fart?"

They both giggled at that, and then Connor paused as he considered his options.

Talk to Kevin. Don't talk to Kevin. Break up with him. Stay with him.

They all sounded equally unappealing.

* * *

_The Next Day_

Connor was typing on his computer when Kevin knocked on the frame of his office door. He stepped inside tentatively as Connor faltered.

"Hey, Kevin," he said. "Um, I was gonna text you."

"I figured," Kevin said with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. There was no need for Connor to know that he'd spent hours agonizing over why he hadn't heard anything him, wondering whether he should reach out to him first or whether that would just annoy Connor even more. "I, uh, I'm guessing you're probably busy and I've gotta get to class soon, but I thought I'd stop by and say hi."

He set the paper bag he was holding down on the desk and added, "Also, I stopped by the union and got you a sandwich from Dunn Meadow. You always work longer than you're supposed to and skip lunch."

Connor's eyes flitted from the bag to Kevin, and he smiled. "That's sweet of you, Kev. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Kevin fiddled with the strap of his messenger bag. "So...about last night..."

Connor turned back to his screen and resumed his typing. "Don't worry about it," he said. "That wasn't exactly a proud moment for either of us. Let's just move past it, okay?"

Kevin blinked. Well, he wasn't expecting that. "Um, okay. Are you sure? Because you seemed pretty pissed."

"I'm positive," Connor said firmly. "Really, I am. I've had time to cool down."

"Okay then," Kevin said uncertainly. "Hey, I've gotta get going. Want to grab dinner this evening?"

"Sure," Connor replied. "Text me when you're done with class."

Kevin nodded and started toward the door.

"Kevin." He stopped and turned around to see Connor watching him, a conflicted look on his face.

"Yeah?"

Connor opened his mouth to say something else, then abruptly shut it and shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing; I'll see you later."

Kevin wanted to stand his ground, to say he wasn't going to leave until Connor told him exactly what was on his mind. But knowing Connor, that could take forever, and one glance at the clock on the wall told him that wasn't a good idea if he wanted to pass Epidemiology. So he gave Connor a tense smile and wave and headed out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!


	53. Have A Good Night

_**Grad School, Year One** _

**Chapter 53: Have A Good Night**

_Warning: Mentions of self-harm_

Brynn walked through the front door to see Kevin hovering over a crockpot, several of his books and notes scattered across the counter. "Taking a break from homework, huh?" she asked. "What're you making?"

"Pepperoni pizza dip." Kevin dumped two full cups of shredded mozzarella into the concoction and began stirring vigorously.

Brynn frowned and peered into the crockpot. "Is there anything in there that's even remotely healthy?"

"Nope."

"Perfect." She dropped her bag on the floor and settled onto one of the barstools, shoving one of the books aside. "So there's these two basic bitches in my study group," she said. "And the only reason we haven't kicked them out is because they always bring booze. Why ruin a good thing, right? Anyway, today they were arguing about whether pumpkin spice latte or salted caramel mocha was the superior Starbucks drink. Honestly, I'm not even kidding."

Kevin shrugged. "Obviously PSL is the better frappuccino and salted caramel mocha is the better hot drink," he replied. "Also, if you use white mocha sauce instead of regular, it sends it through the roof. Did you tell them that? I mean, I would know; I earned Coffee Master certification over the summer so—"

"Yes, Kevin, I'm aware," she said with an eyeroll. "Believe me, you've made everyone and their grandma aware that you graduated from Starbucks Nerd School."

"It's not nerd school; it's actually a big damn deal," Kevin snapped as he continued stirring. "My old supervisor didn't just recommend any random employee for certification, y'know. Like seriously, she barely recommended anyone. Why do you think it took me so long? You have to  _ **earn**_  that black apron. Anyway, did any of them know about the whole white mocha thing? Because they definitely have to try it."

"Sure, I'll totally let them know. It's not like I'm trying to get an invitation to join the law journal next summer. I can definitely spend all my time clarifying the finer points of the beverage section in the white girl rulebook."

"I'm sure your fellow students just love you." Kevin put the lid on the crockpot, set it on low, and then stepped around to sit on the other barstool.

"Most of them hate me in class, but they're dying to get their hands on my outlines. But I didn't come here to make friends."

Kevin tapped his finger on the cover of one of his textbooks. "Yeah, I'm not doing so great with that either," he admitted. "And I'm not even an asshole to everyone like you." He let out a sigh. "Can I tell you a secret? I'm honestly kind of jealous of Connor's program."

Brynn let out a snort. "Are you serious? It's a master's degree, Kevin. Who the hell wants to waste time on a master's degree when they can get a terminal one?"

"Whatever, they're happy and have camaraderie," he replied. "Doesn't that sound appealing to you? And they love everyone and just want to help each other ride the tandem bike to self-authorship or whatever and meet Marcia Baxter Magolda."

She arched an eyebrow. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

"I don't know. I'm not in their program," he snapped. "I'm not in on all their jokes. Only people in the freaking student affairs program know." When the look of confusion on her face didn't fade, he let out a sigh.

"It really doesn't bother you that Connor's got an entire program full of friends, while basically all you and I do is talk to each other?" he elaborated.

"Like I said, I didn't come here to make friends. I came here to kick ass and start my career."

"Well it bothers  _ **me**_ ," he clarified. "And I'm not even doing as well academically as I should. I got a B-minus on my ocular biology test, and I really thought I'd do better."

Brynn winced. "Shit," she said. "That's not terrible though, right? I mean, it's not the kind of grade  _ **I'd**_  get, but—"

"Oh, shut up," he sneered. "Like you've really scored an A on every damn test you've ever taken. And no, it's not a dealbreaker. My grade should be fine if I do better on the next one. What kills me is that I'm good at this stuff. It's hard but interesting; I should've been a lot more prepared than I was."

"So what's been distracting you?"

"Connor," Kevin explained. "He's been...distant lately."

"Is it because you told him you wanted him to hurry up and finish having sex with you, and then you called him a slut?"

"No," he snapped. He  _ **knew**_  he shouldn't have told her about that. "Well, I don't think so, anyway. No, he just seems really, um, preoccupied, I guess. And hesitant around me. I don't know why."

"Ask him."

Kevin balked. "I can't do that," he protested.

"Why the hell not?"

How exactly was he supposed to explain why? Heck, he didn't really understand why himself; he just knew that he may not like the answer, and the very thought of asking Connor what was going on filled him with a deep sense of dread. "I just can't, okay?"

Brynn huffed and stood up, retrieving her bag from the floor. "Well, then I don't know what to tell you," she said simply as she headed for her room. "But you're not gonna get any answers if you don't ask for them. Let me know when that dip is ready, will you?"

"It'll be ready in about twenty minutes, and then you can basically have some whenever," Kevin called after her. "It can sit here for hours as long as the crockpot's on low."

He stared down at his hand resting on top of the book, an overwhelming queasiness overtaking him.  _You're not gonna get any answers if you don't ask for them_. She made it sound so easy. But he obviously couldn't just ask Connor why he suddenly seemed less relaxed around him, why he texted less, why he just didn't seem nearly as into Kevin anymore. If he did, who knew what answers he might get?

No, better to just pretend everything was grand. Pretend that his love life wasn't in ruins; that he was settling into his new program splendidly and his grades were perfect, and that he hadn't started spending dinner prep every evening wondering what it might feel like to run the blade of one of their sharper kitchen knives along his skin—

_No, stop._   _Do_ **not** _think about that_. Kevin stood up and took a long, deep breath to steady himself. He hurried over to the couch, where Bailey was sprawled out in slumber. Perching next to her, he ran his hands through her soft, recently brushed fur until his pulse evened out. There, see? He was fine; everything was fine. A couple less-than-stellar tests weren't going to kill his grades. And his love life wasn't in  _ **ruins**_ —not yet, anyway. Kevin could still fix this. He could still be the perfect boyfriend, could be everything Connor dreamed of—

Okay, maybe not everything. There was no way he was coming out to his family. And he wasn't exactly going to bring up sex again so soon after their previous fiasco. But he could do other things. He could buy him flowers and take him on a really nice date, then come home and curl up with him on the couch and make out or something. He could be sweet, and charming, and remind Connor of why he wanted to date him in the first place. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and located Connor in the Messages app.

_Let's go out tonight_ , he texted.

Connor's reply came five minutes later.  _Now? It's 7pm._

_So? You haven't eaten yet have you, old man? :P There's plenty of time._  Kevin waited for a response, wondering why he was so nervous.

_No_. Kevin's face fell, before another message came in.  _I haven't eaten. Give me about 30 min_.

Kevin breathed a sigh of relief. See? Nothing to worry about; he could fix everything.  _Awesome. I'll pick you up_ , he texted before scurrying off to his room to change clothes.

* * *

Connor had almost turned down Kevin's request to go out. Seriously, he'd been  _ **this**_  close to telling him sorry, he had too much to do tonight, maybe another time. Why exactly he'd acquiesced, he wasn't really sure. All he knew was that suddenly he'd desperately wanted to be near his boyfriend.

That had been happening a lot recently. Ever since Naba had suggested he end the relationship if he didn't think it was working out, he'd been...well, conflicted was probably putting it lightly. One minute, he'd be certain that being with Kevin was a waste of time and the next, he'd want to throw himself into Kevin's arms and never, ever leave. How could being with one person feel so ridiculous and yet so amazing at the same time?

Deep down, Connor knew this probably meant it was time to end things. He wouldn't be having doubts if they were meant to be, right? But then again, what if he was overanalyzing this?

_Don't be afraid to talk to him about this_ , Naba had said. That felt nearly impossible, though. What exactly would Kevin do if he said they needed to talk things over because he wasn't sure if they should be together? Would he be devastated? The last thing Connor wanted to do was hurt Kevin, after all. Would he be relieved? Shit, that was almost worse.

God, he needed a drink— _No, don't think about that_ , he corrected himself.  _Buck up, you don't need alcohol to get through every little problem in your life_.

Either way, Connor had to do something soon. Kevin had to have picked up on his mood swings, and it didn't do any good to leave either of them in limbo.

When a knock sounded on his door, Connor gave himself a once-over in the mirror before hurrying into the living room. Yes, he had to make a decision, sooner rather than later. But not today.

He opened the door to find Kevin holding a bouquet full of sunflowers and warm-colored carnations. Shit, he got him flowers. Of  _ **course**_  Kevin got him flowers. Connor was thinking of leaving him, and Kevin got him fucking  _ **flowers**_. He tried to wipe all evidence of his conflicting emotions off his face, instead giving Kevin a teasing grin.

"You know, I'm a little concerned about how easy it is for you to get into this supposedly-secure building," he said. "Remind me to have a talk with the desk assistants."

"Why? Am I on the banned student list?"

"Depends. Have you harassed any of the residents?"

"What I do in my spare time is none of your business."

Connor snorted and shook his head, stepping back to allow Kevin to pass through. Once he was inside, the other man seemed almost uncharacteristically shy.

"Um, these are for you," he said awkwardly, holding the flowers out to Connor.

"Thanks. They're beautiful." Trying to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach, Connor took the bouquet and stepped into his kitchen in search of something that could function as a vase.

"I mean, they aren't much," Kevin replied. "But I stopped by that convenience store by my place on the way over, and—well, I know sunflowers are your favorite, so when I saw them I thought of you."

"That's so sweet." Connor located a plastic cup big enough to hold them and set about getting the bouquet situated. "So what d'you have in mind for dinner?"

"I dunno," Kevin said with a shrug. "Up to you. We can get sushi if you want."

Connor frowned, giving him a confused look. Connor loved sushi. Kevin didn't. Kevin never suggested food he didn't like; what exactly was he up to? Did he know how Connor was feeling? Was he trying to win him over with a spontaneous date, flowers, and the restaurant of his choice? Honestly, that just made Connor feel worse.

"Y'know, I'm not really in the mood for that," he replied. "How about we just go to Panera or something?"

He heard Kevin approach him and then the taller man was wrapping his arms around Connor's waist, hugging him from behind. Shit, what the hell was he supposed to do? Really, how could this feel so good and yet so very...empty? Connor wanted to melt right into his embrace. He also wanted to forcefully shove him away. So instead he just stood there while Kevin trailed kisses across his neck, utterly conflicted.

"You're amazing, Con," Kevin whispered into his hair before shifting and planting a quick kiss on his temple. "I don't tell you that enough, do I?"

Connor wasn't sure exactly what he'd intended to say.  _Thanks, you're pretty great yourself_ , maybe?  _We should probably get going_ , perhaps? Either way, he definitely hadn't planned on saying the words that  _ **actually**_  slipped out of his mouth.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

He felt Kevin tense and pull back warily. Shit. God damn it, this was  _ **not**_  how Connor intended to do this. Hell, he hadn't even been certain he wanted to do this. Was he really  _ **that**_  uncertain, though? Now that the words were out, he was stunned to find that he had no desire to take them back.

"What d'you mean?" Despite his words, the slight tremor in Kevin's voice made it clear he knew exactly what Connor meant. "Like, you don't want dinner? That's fine; we don't have to—"

"No, Kevin." Taking a deep breath, Connor squared his shoulders and turned to face his soon-to-be ex. "I don't want to be with you anymore."

* * *

Kevin felt like he'd been plunged into a pool of ice water. "You...you don't want to be with me anymore," he repeated hollowly.

Connor averted his eyes. "I'm sorry, Kevin."

"Why? Why are you doing this?" His voice trembled a little as he spoke, no matter how hard he tried to keep it level. "Why  _ **now**_? Is it because of that fight we had when we almost slept together?"

"No," Connor replied quickly, before faltering. "Well, not entirely. We're just...we're in different places."

"Different places," Kevin echoed flatly. "So you're dumping me, because we're in different places? We're not even gonna try to work this out? It's over, just like that?"

"We've  _ **been**_  trying to work this out. One could argue that we've been trying for years. We gave it our best shot, but it didn't work out. I'm sorry; I don't know what else to do."

He moved past Kevin and stepped into the living room. Kevin hurried after him.

"Connor. Connor, you can't do this," he said desperately. "Connor,  _ **please**_. I—I...I love you."

That stopped Connor in his tracks. He spun around with a look of shock on his face, and Kevin just watched him helplessly. There, he said finally said it. It had been hard as hell, and maybe it was too little too late, but he finally  _ **said**_  it. "I love you, Con," he repeated.

Connor wavered, obviously not sure how to respond. Kevin's heart sped up as he waited for him to say or do something, anything. Then Connor let out a derisive laugh, and Kevin never realized anything could sting so badly.

"You love me, huh?" he challenged, and Kevin narrowed his eyes. "Do you? Do you really? If you love me so much, then why isn't this going anywhere? Why do we seem so stuck? Why won't you tell your mother about me? Why are you so scared to have sex with me? Why won't you—"

"I'm asexual, okay?" he blurted out, crossing his arms. " _ **That's**_ why I don't want to have sex with you. There, happy?"

Connor blinked in surprise at his outburst and then stared at him, one eyebrow raised an an unreadable expression on his face. He stayed like that for long enough that Kevin had to avert his eyes, and when he finally spoke, his voice was tense.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" he said, one hand on his hips and the other harshly raking through his hair. "Do have any idea how long I...God, I've been sitting here wondering what exactly was so repulsive about me that kept you from— _ **shit**_ , Kevin, don't you think that's something I fucking had a right to know!?"

"It's not that I didn't think you had a right to know," Kevin quickly clarified. "It's just that I...listen, I haven't told anyone besides my counselors. I mean, I'm still figuring this out myself, and I didn't know how you'd react."  _And the way you're acting right now sure as shit isn't making me feel any better._  Of course, instead of saying that, he added in a pleading tone, "I didn't want to lose you."

Connor's expression softened slightly. He sighed, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. "Look, I don't really know much about asexuality," he admitted. "I know what it is, but I've never dealt with it before. Honestly though, I don't think it would've been a dealbreaker. I think I could work with that. What I  _ **can't**_  handle is you being ashamed of me."

"I'm not ashamed of you."

Connor just looked at him sadly. "You are, hon. You don't want to be, but you are. You're not ready to accept yourself or us yet. It's okay," he quickly added when Kevin opened his mouth to interject. "I'm not blaming you. It's not your fault. But...this isn't gonna work. We can't be together, Kevin."

Kevin tried to blink back the pressure building behind his eyes. "Why the hell not?" he cried. "How can you say that? I  _ **love**_  you!"

"I love you too, Kev." Connor had averted his eyes again, and it was really pissing Kevin off that he wouldn't even look at him. "Shit, that's what makes this so hard. But that's not all it takes; we—"

"What do you mean that's not all it takes?"

You know exactly what I mean. If I could make this as simple as one of your Disney movies—where love just magically makes everything better—I would, all right? But I can't. We're just...we're not compatible right now, okay?"

No, no, no, this could not be happening.  _Stop, breathe, think_ , he told himself. He could still fix this; he had to.

"What do I have to do to change your mind?" he asked. "Look, you want me to have sex with you? Because I'll do it. You want me to tell my parents? I'll call them right now if that's what you want. I'll do anything you want me to, literally anything; just please,  _ **please**_  don't—"

Connor's eyes snapped back to Kevin, and he scowled in disbelief. "You honestly think that's what I want?" he sputtered. "For you to strip naked on command and force yourself out of the closet before you're ready? What kind of person do you think I am?"

"Well then what  _ **do**_  you want?" Kevin shot back, exasperated.

"It doesn't matter what I want. This whole situation...it is what it is. We're done. End of story. I'm sorry, Kevin. I really, really wish this could've worked out."

"It still can."

Connor just shook his head sadly.

"Please, Connor," Kevin begged. "I need you, I'll…"  _I'll fall apart without you. I might relapse. I'll probably hurt myself. You're one of the only people I have in this lonely little town and I can't lose you._ "I...I can't believe this is happening."

"I didn't mean for it to go this way." Connor said quietly. "But you're gonna be fine, hon. I know you are."

"Oh, do you?" Kevin snapped. "Well that's great to know. You're freaking abandoning me, but it's okay because I'm gonna be  _ **fine**_. How could you even do this right now? I came over here to take you out and bring you flowers and now you're  _ **dumping**_ me?"

Connor faltered before giving him a half-hearted shrug. "I know, I'm sorry. Like I said, I didn't mean for this to happen right now."

"Really? When did you plan for it to happen? Was it on the schedule for next week? Veteran's Day? Tell me more about this fucked up breakup timetable you had planned out, Connor!"

Kevin felt a sharp lingering sting on his left forearm, and it was only then he realized how tightly he'd been gripping it, his nails digging into the skin. He pulled his hand back and gazed down at the red crescent marks left behind.

"Kevin." He looked up to see Connor tentatively watching him, eyes flitting back and forth between the nail marks and the scar on his wrist that had lightened considerably but never completely faded. "Kevin, are—are you okay?"

Kevin burst out laughing. Huh, interesting. He still had the capacity for that. "Go fuck yourself, Connor," he spat as he headed for the door. "After all, it's not like I'm gonna be doing it anytime soon."

"Kevin!" Too late; Kevin had already slammed the door behind him and was rushing to the building's exit. When he reached the lobby, however, a voice suddenly brought him to a halt.

"Careful! Slow down." He looked over to see a pimply-faced undergrad sitting at the front desk. "Wet floor," the kid added, gesturing to a sign propped up nearby.

"Yeah, well, your boss is a dick." It wasn't Kevin's finest retort, or his smartest for that matter. But this wasn't exactly his finest night, either.

He started forward again, hearing the kid dumbfoundedly stammer out "Have a good night!" behind him. Once he was outside, he slumped against the nearest tree, buried his head in his hands, and sobbed.

He stayed like that for a while; he had no idea how much time might have past, how many people may have walked by him or what they may have thought, but when he finally looked up, wiping his eyes and letting out a small hiccup, he took one look at the ugly concrete residence hall and knew he had to get the hell out of there.

But he didn't want to go home either, did he? Home meant driving while he felt like he was going to fall apart. It meant seeing Brynn, who might ask questions, or looking at that fucking picture of Connor he had on his nightstand. So he started walking. It didn't matter where.

That picture on his nightstand wasn't even one of the two of them together; they didn't have many of those. It was one of Connor and Naba and at her wedding reception, taken by the Cunninghams' official wedding photographer. They were dancing, and he'd just dipped her and they both looked so happy and adorable and—shit, what about Naba? Was she even gonna be Kevin's friend anymore?

He let out another involuntary hiccup and came to a halt near the athletic fields, staring vacantly ahead. There was a group of undergrads playing frisbee in the open grass; judging by the Greek letters a few of them were wearing, they must've been part of a fraternity. How the hell did they all look so content? Oh, right; none of them had probably had their hearts just crushed into a million pieces. What was the biggest problem they faced, midterms? When to throw their next party? They probably weren't battling an Adderall addiction. Their siblings likely weren't blaming them for their parents' divorce, and they probably weren't considering cutting themselves up with their kitchen knives once they got home. They'd never been terrorized in third world countries; never lost dear friends to diseases that were virtually cured in America. No, these carefree, blissfully unaware frat boys likely had no idea just how cruel the world could be.

Kevin hated them. He pitied them. He wanted to  _ **be**_  them.

You know what? Fuck it.

He was standing there, completely alone, watching a bunch of strangers play some stupid game in a field. His best friend was fifteen hundred miles away, completely oblivious to his problems, and there was a very real possibility that he'd never have any worthwhile contact with his other best friend—the love of his life, the person he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, even if he could never quite admit that to himself—ever again.

He really didn't have anyone here for him anymore, did he? His dogs, sure, but no one  _ **human**_. Brynn maybe, but honestly; she'd probably sell him to a tribe of cannibals without batting an eye if it somehow meant she'd climb in her class rankings. So screw it. He was devastated, and if running a blade along his skin could make him feel better, even for a minute, then why the hell not?

He spun on his heel and headed in the direction of the parking lot.

* * *

_A Few Hours Later_

No one who knew Connor McKinley would be surprised at his actions following the breakup. Disappointed, maybe, but definitely not surprised.

First, he threw out those damn flowers and cried in his kitchen for a while. Then, he pulled himself together and found a bar. To hell with sobriety, right? Once he lost count of the number of whiskey sours he'd downed, he let some man who'd been eyeing him from across the bar pick up his tab and drunkenly clung to him until they reached his car. The details got a little hazy from there—did the guy offer to let Connor come back to his place? Did Connor ask? Either way, he somehow ended up standing over the bedroom dresser, clutching the edges for support while this man relentlessly pounded into him.

This guy probably wasn't even Connor's type. Appearance-wise Connor couldn't really tell, he could never quite get his features in focus when he looked at him. But one thing was for sure; he was absolutely awful at sex. To be fair, Connor didn't mind a little aggressiveness; hell, he welcomed it. But the way he was doing it, gripping Connor's hips hard enough to leave bruises while mechanically slamming forward over and over again, was downright painful, even while drunk. But none of that really mattered did it? Because that's exactly what Connor needed right now.

Kevin loved him. He freaking  _ **loved**_  him. And that's all Connor had ever wanted, wasn't it? But when he finally,  _ **finally**_  had it, well, it turns out that just wasn't enough. And he couldn't even blame Kevin for that, could he? It was him who pulled the trigger, after all.

So why bother? Who cared if he broke his sobriety, if he hooked up with the first nameless, faceless stranger to look his way? This was what he was destined to be, wasn't it? He could put on a brave face, he could smile and laugh, he could console every homesick resident in his building, he could work his ass off and become the best damn hall director in the world, but in the end, it wouldn't change this one small thing. Deep down, beneath the cheerful, hardworking, and always supportive attitude he projected, he was just a hot mess of human being who would find fault with every good thing he had, who needed sex and alcohol to feel like he really mattered.

_You're going to hate yourself in the morning_ , Naba would probably say, if she knew what he was up to at the moment. Then he'd laugh and tell her,  _I hate myself right_ **now**.

"Harder," he gasped.

"What?" The man faltered. "You sure?"

Connor shrugged. "Fuck it; why not?"

* * *

_The Next Day_

"Sorry for the short notice," Kevin told Harry Saffell. He was listlessly sprawled out on the counselor's office couch, hugging one of the throw pillows to his chest. "I just really needed to talk."

"Of course. Don't ever apologize for that. It's what I'm here for, right?"

Kevin sighed and shifted slightly, ignoring the dull burning sensation as the fabric of his pants moved across his inner thighs. There were six shallow cuts there, three on each leg all about an inch long and spaced about a half-inch apart. Funny how something could be so neat and orderly, yet so grotesque at the same time.

"Connor broke up with me," he said weakly. "I knew something was wrong, but I thought I could fix it. I didn't think he'd end it just like that. It's like he didn't even want to try to make it better."

"Oh Kevin." Harry let out a long, sympathetic sigh. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Tell me how you're holding up."

"Not good; I started cutting myself," he admitted. "Um, last night, after it happened. Not real deep or anything. It distracted me, at least for a while. It was really, really stupid, but I kind of want to do it again."

Harry pursed his lips, but Kevin simply plowed on. "Apparently Connor texted Brynn after I left his apartment. He told her to make sure I was okay. She was studying and didn't see it for hours though; by then I gave her some bullshit about being fine. I haven't told Arnold about the breakup yet. Maybe he already knows. If Connor's told Naba, then he'd already know. He hasn't called or texted though, so I'm guessing Connor hasn't talked to her."

"Kevin," Harry chimed in. "I don't mean to derail you, but we need to talk more about the cutting."

"I know," he relented. "We will, I promise. But can I just...can I just vent for a while first?"

When Harry nodded, Kevin continued, "It's the little things that're getting to me. You know how everybody's got these stupid quirks? I keep thinking about Connor's. Like, okay, you know how Hershey's kisses always have the green and red and silver wrapping at Christmas? He loves getting those, but only eats the red and silver ones. He'll give the green ones away. And whenever he has a meal he has to eat each individual thing completely before he moves on to the next one; he won't change it up. Which is weird, because it's not like he's super particular about where things go in his daily life or anything."

He let out a short, humorless chuckle. "You'd think I'd be the one with that habit, not him. One time in Uganda, Arnold pointed out that all the food mixes together in his stomach anyway, and oh my God, you should have seen the look on Connor's face. He was practically horrified. Also, how in the world does it make sense to be okay with snakes but scared of horses? He won't even look at pictures of horses. We started watching  _Parks and Rec_  together, and he's made me skip every episode with Lil' Sebastian."

He sat up a little, curling his legs under him. "I can't stop thinking about all that little stuff. All the stupid things I'm gonna miss. I just—" He drew in a shaky breath, eyes slowly welling up with tears. "I just can't believe he's basically gonna be gone from my life now. It's not like we can really be friends after this. Not the way we used to be, anyway. You know, I finally told him I loved him last night. I can't believe it took me so long to do that. And now it's too late."

Kevin had really thought he had no more tears left to cry. Apparently not. "Harry," he whimpered as he grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the end table. "Harry, I don't know what to do. It just...God, it hurts."

The counselor didn't say anything; rather, he just let Kevin sit there and cry. And honestly, that's probably the best Harry could do for him in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry for the delay. Life has been crazy busy, and also this was a really hard chapter to write. Remember that this story is ultimately McPriceley. There's also a lot more to it besides their romance however, but they are endgame so please bear with me! Thanks for reading!


	54. Jerky McJerkface

_**Grad School, Year One** _

**Chapter Fifty-Four: Jerky McJerkface**

"Kevin dear, fix your tie."

Kevin let out a sigh and fiddled with his misshapen bowtie, glaring at his reflection in the foyer mirror. "Mom, this is as good as it's gonna get," he huffed. "It's not my fault Deb's making me wear this stupid thing. I'm not even in the wedding party. Why is she making every male guest wear a bowtie? It's ridiculous."

"You know she loves when everything matches. She's always liked things to be neat and orderly."

He snorted. "More like she's always liked telling people what to do."

"Well there's no need to complain about it. You look handsome in everything, after all. Now, give it here." She reached toward his neck to redo the knot. How she was able to be so composed, Kevin had no idea. If he were in her position, if his daughter was getting married and had sent him a "reception-only" invite even if he still technically had a temple admit, then he'd probably be a mess. Before he could dwell on the matter further, though, his mother had finished straightening out the tie and smoothed out his coat.

"There," she said. "Now you're perfect." Kevin's brain couldn't help but recall that Connor had basically said and done the exact same thing to him before Arnold's wedding, and he flinched.

_Don't think about Connor_ , he chastised himself. Because that's all he could really do, right? Don't think about his ex-boyfriend and former dear friend, who he hadn't seen or spoken to since the night they broke up several weeks ago. Don't think about the time that Kayla, the girl he sat next to in Visual Optics, mentioned that she'd seen "his friend" out with some of his friends at a nearby bar, clearly drunk and making out with an MBA student who also happened to be her next-door neighbor. Don't dwell on the knowledge that Connor had obviously thrown sobriety out the window and clearly had no qualms about replacing Kevin with random strangers he'd picked up God knows where. Don't think about the fact that of course Kayla would call Connor "his friend," because it's not like he'd ever bothered to tell her or anyone else that they were dating. And that had been the root of so many of their problems, hadn't it?

But hey, it didn't do to any good to focus on all that. Celebrate the little victories; that was what Harry had told him. And sure, he'd had a few of those. For example, over the past few weeks he'd managed not to fall behind in class. Sure, maybe he didn't give a shit about his classes anymore; maybe he was bitter and lonely as hell, hated IU, hated Bloomington, hated the entire state of Indiana, and had no idea what to do with himself. But he was doing his freaking work, damn it. Also, despite wanting to be literally anywhere else besides his sister's wedding reception, he'd still managed to haul his ass onto the plane. That was something, right? Oh, and he hadn't cut himself since two days after the breakup. See? Progress.

"Kevin?" Ms. Price was eyeing him questioningly. "You okay, honey?"

"I'm fine," he said hastily, shaking his head in a feeble attempt to clear his mind. "I'm just not in the mood for this reception, And I'm annoyed that Deb didn't invite Hal." It still felt a little weird sometimes to call him by his first name and not Dr. Brenner, but Kevin was slowly moving past that. "It's one thing to not put his name on the invitation, but it's another to call you up just to tell you not to bring him."

She offered a small shrug. "Yes, well, it's her wedding reception, and we have to respect her wishes. I suppose she has to do what's best for her." Even as she defended her daughter, there was a trace of sadness on Ms. Price's face.

"Oh, but she invited  _ **Janine**_ ," Kevin muttered. "I can't believe Dad's already engaged. You two haven't even been divorced for a year, and they didn't even  _ **know**_  each other before—what, a few months ago?"

"I can believe it. You know how devoted he is. Marriage is central to salvation in his mind."

Janine Henderson was a thirty-two-year-old divorcee who worked as some sort of administrator and had been transferred from her company's location in Dallas to Ogden about a year ago—only to be laid off as a result of budget cuts about six months later. When missionaries came knocking on her door not long after, she quickly took to the idea of a "brand new start" and became quite the devoted student.

Fast forward to her conversion, baptism, and meeting Mr. Price at some sort of ward gathering, and now the other church members just couldn't get over what a so-called perfect couple they were. It was a match made by Heavenly Father himself, wasn't it? After all, Mr. Price needed someone who truly appreciated the faith after what "his awful" ex-wife did to him, and Janine needed someone to save her from her "old ways" and guide her in her newfound religion. And she was infertile too, the poor thing. Wouldn't it be wonderful for her to have the younger members of the Price roost in her life now?

Kevin wanted to gag.

To be fair, Janine wasn't a bad person. His siblings liked her, anyway. Kevin had only met her in person once, yesterday. She was a little standoffish toward him in particular (he imagined his dad hadn't exactly filled her head with great thoughts about his eldest son), but she had been polite overall. Honestly though, the idea of having a stepmom who had been a mere seven years old when he was born was a little odd, to put it lightly.

"I swear, if Dad tries to get Katie and Scott to call her mom, I'm gonna lose it," Kevin remarked. "You know what? You should bring Hal to this thing anyway. Fuck Deb's wishes."

"Language, Kevin!" Ms. Price snapped. "And Hal wouldn't come even if I asked him to. He's a gentleman; he doesn't want to be somewhere he isn't welcome."

"Really?" Kevin asked with a smirk. "His stupid red pen wasn't welcome on my test papers, but it never stopped him then."

Ms. Price let out a little chortle and smacked his arm. "Honey, you're going to have to let that go," she said.

"Nope. Hal's probably the reason I didn't get into UC Berkeley, and I'll never, ever forgive him. Ever. It's gonna be etched on my tombstone when I die."

"Now honey, I know that's a good school, but do you really think you would've enjoyed living in the Bay Area?" she asked skeptically. "I just don't think it would suit you. You know what the cost of living is like there? How bad traffic can be? You get annoyed driving in Salt Lake's rush hour, for goodness sake."

Kevin shrugged sheepishly. "True," he admitted.  _If I was living there I probably never would've started dating Connor, though. And then he couldn't have dumped me._  No, he couldn't think about that, he reminded himself. He couldn't be bitter about missing out on something if he made it sound terrible, right? Let's see, if he was a student at Berkeley, he'd probably be…a vegan pothead driving a moped and wearing some sort of handmade bracelet, talking about superfoods and essential oils and organic everything. Right? Maybe? Sure, he'd go with that. There, that was better.

He heard his mother say something about finishing her hair before she hurried up the steps, leaving Kevin alone in the foyer of this house that he knew well enough to navigate, but not quite enough to be fully comfortable in.

It hadn't felt quite real, leaving the airport and coming to Hal's house, of all places, all the while knowing he'd only be here for a few days before heading back to Bloomington. Aside from his brief stint in Uganda, up until now Kevin had never lived anywhere that wasn't within the Ogden metropolitan area. Hell, his family had lived in the same house since he was a baby. And sure, over the years he'd had his dorm rooms and the apartment he and Arnold shared, but at the end of the day home was always the Price family residence in North Ogden, with its weathered deck and outdated yellow countertops and weird paneling in the basement. But now, that home didn't exist anymore, and it hadn't existed in quite some time.

Of course, it wasn't  _ **gone**_. Kevin could technically go there right now if he wanted. But it was his dad's house now, and while the two of them could usually manage a pleasant visit or a brief phone call, Kevin really didn't want to stay with him. Besides, Mr. Price had recently listed the house on the market. They didn't need as big a place now that most of the kids were grown, and Janine wanted something more modern.

Not for the first time, Kevin had to stop and marvel at how impossible it was to predict the future. If his high school self could see him now, pining over his ex-boyfriend and staying with his mom and her godless liberal scientist boyfriend because he didn't want to be around his dad or his dad's new hot young thing, he would probably…well, Kevin wasn't exactly sure  _ **what**_  his younger self would do.

He found Hal seated on the couch in the living room, grading some organic chemistry test packets with that damn red pen. Kevin took a seat next to him, watching as he marked something on one of the problems.

"Seriously? You're only giving them half credit because they forgot a double bond?" he asked incredulously. "That's just cruel, Hal."

Hal shrugged and moved on to the next problem. "The answer's wrong," he said. "Half credit is all they get."

Kevin shook his head. "I definitely don't miss your class."

"And I don't miss having you in my class. You were a pain."

"Whatever, I was your favorite." He leaned back against the cushions and sighed. "God, I don't want to go to this wedding. Can I just skip it and stay here with you?"

Hal wrote the final score at the top of the first page, then tossed it in the completed pile and reached over for the next test. "Your sister obviously wants you there or she wouldn't have invited you."

"Does she, though?" Kevin countered. "I think she only did it because she thought it would look bad if she flat-out disinvited her own brother. Or maybe she wants to try and sell me expensive pyramid-scheme moisturizer, since y'know, that's a thing she does now."

"Well your mother wants you there," Hal replied with finality, and Kevin couldn't really argue with that. They sat in silence for a bit, Kevin listening absentmindedly to the occasional sounds of flipping paper and pen scribbling across the page, before Hal spoke again.

"Your mother said you and Debbie used to be close."

"We were," he replied. "Back when I was involved with the church. I guess I should try to be the bigger person and be happy for her, but it's just…" Who was he kidding? He didn't want to see her there, happy and marrying the love of her life, while he was alone and missing Connor more than anything in the world. The thought of watching Deb and her husband twirl on the dance floor while trying not to remember Connor at Naba and Arnold's wedding was almost too much to bear.

He looked over at Hal, whose eyes were still focused on the papers in front of him. He couldn't tell his family; there was  _ **no way**_  he could tell his family. But maybe, just maybe, he could try coming out to Hal.

"If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell Mom?" he asked after nervously swallowing the lump forming in his throat.

Hal sighed before lowering his pen. "You really shouldn't be keeping secrets from her, Kevin. If this is about those issues you had a few years ago—"

"It's not about that," Kevin clarified. "And I'm not gonna keep it a secret forever, I just don't really know how to tell her yet." When Hal slipped off his bifocals and fixed him with a questioning gaze, Kevin took a slow, steadying breath. "I, um…I started dating my friend Connor earlier this year," he admitted. "I've kind of been into him for a while now. But he broke up with me a few weeks ago."

If Hal was surprised by the confession, he didn't show it; indeed, aside from a split-second eyebrow raise, his expression didn't change much at all. He merely looked ahead thoughtfully, tapping his pen against his chin.

"Connor McKinley? That theatre major you went on your mission with?" he said. "He was a student of mine several semesters back, you know."

"Really? He never mentioned that." Of course, Connor didn't really know much about Hal beyond the fact that he was a professor who was dating Kevin's mom, and it wasn't like their gen-ed teachers were ever a hot topic of conversation, so the subject never really came up. Kevin frowned. "Wait, I didn't know you taught the non-major class," he pointed out. "Those poor kids."

"I was a fill-in that semester; Dr. Lee was out on medical leave and we couldn't find an adjunct in time," Hal clarified. "Anyway, he's a nice kid. Horrible scientist, though. But he tried, I suppose. His grade ended up bordering a C and a D, so I took pity on him and rounded it up."

Kevin crossed his arms petulantly. "You never rounded up any of  _ **my**_ borderline grades."

"Of course not, I expect more out of my upper-level students. If I taught his class with the same rigor I taught yours, he would've failed spectacularly."

Kevin shrugged. "Makes sense, I guess." He let out a little snicker and added, "I love how your response to my breakup pain is to just blatantly violate FERPA with me, by the way. Like, oh you just got dumped? Well, let me tell you how much your ex sucks at chemistry." He stared down at his hands, awkwardly twisting them in his lap. "Thanks for not freaking out, though," he said. "You're, uh, not gonna tell Mom, right?"

"I wouldn't do that to you," Hal replied. "But I don't think she'll take as badly as you might expect. Now your father, on the other hand…"

"Ugh, I don't even want to  _ **think**_  about him right now," Kevin said with a wince. "And I know she's probably not gonna go crazy or anything, but…I'm still not ready to tell her."

Because Kevin was her pride and joy, wasn't he? All of her kids were special to her, but Kevin was the Eagle Scout, the valedictorian, the perfect Mormon who had the potential to one day become president of the church, the one who was supposed to marry some beautiful devout girl and give his mom her first grandchildren. And how many of those expectations had he actually fulfilled?

Well, he was still an Eagle Scout and valedictorian. Wasn't that just freaking  _ **great**_? His family had fallen apart, he was all alone in a state over a thousand miles away, and he had no idea what to do with his life, but hell, he'd been his high school's valedictorian. He'd built a fucking dog park. Funny how those stupid things he'd worked his ass off for so long ago didn't mean a thing now.

Of course, Ms. Price hadn't exactly followed her own life's expectations, so who knew what her hopes for Kevin were now. Wasn't it almost worse, though? After all, he was the only kid who stood by her (the weird shared-custody issue with Katie notwithstanding). Didn't that make his choices even more important? Maybe she wasn't gunning for him to ascend the ranks of the Mormon church, but the fact that she'd left her husband didn't mean she'd lost her traditional nature. Kevin was sure she still imagined him following some sort of typical lifescript—one that most definitely did  _ **not**_  involve a failed relationship with one specific future hall director.

"Well I'm sorry that happened to you." Hal's voice jarred him out of his reverie. "How are you holding up?"

Part of him wanted to put on a brave face, to smile and say something like  _fine_  or  _I'm managing_. But hell with it; why bother lying at this point?

"Shit, I don't know," he said. "I'm still in love with him, Hal. And it's so damn hard to do anything—hell, you know how hard it is to even be in Bloomington right now? Everything there reminds me of him. I picked IU over the school in Boston because of him, you know. I mean, I probably would have chosen it anyway, but the fact that he was going there was definitely on my mind. And now, I…I don't even want to go back."

In fact, the very thought of returning to Indiana made his stomach churn. Because no matter how much Kevin wanted to, he couldn't separate that damn college from Connor in his mind; Connor had really just settled right into the place and made it his own. Everywhere Kevin looked, there were traces of him. The Wright Education Building, where Connor had his classes; the union, where he would often meet up with fellow students to work on group projects; the library, where he was planning to complete a spring practicum with the service-learning program. And of course, the dorms—but Connor would say they're called residence halls, wouldn't he?

Hell, Kevin couldn't even go into the damn School of Optometry without thinking of his ex. Because all he could remember was that one time Connor had teased him about he and Brynn attending classes at "the real campus," while Kevin was stuck "down in the bottom corner that no one ever, ever goes to." It was an exaggeration, of course; just because Kevin's building was on the outskirts of campus didn't mean it was surrounded by nothing. But that little detail didn't exactly subdue the pang Kevin felt anytime he remembered that the other man's playful banter was no longer in his life anymore. So really, Kevin wouldn't complain if he never never set foot in the state of Indiana ever again.

Of course, no one was forcing him to go back there, were they?

"You know," he said now. "I actually, uh—well, I'm thinking of quitting optometry school. I'm not really sure what I'll do instead, but I'll figure it out. Maybe a Master's in bio, or something with math. I always liked math." He gave Hal a hopeful glance. "You know a lot of what's out there, don't you? Could you write me a letter of recommendation and help me find something that works with my background?"

Hal peered at him for several long seconds, his expression as unreadable as ever. Then he abruptly picked up his pen, slipped his glasses back on, and returned his focus to the test papers on his lap. "No," he said with finality.

Kevin blinked, stunned. "You're joking, right?" When the professor didn't respond, Kevin bristled. "Why the hell not, Hal?"

"Because I  _ **don't**_ recommend you for anything else," Hal replied, eyes still on the exam in front of him as he began marking it up. "And you shouldn't recommend yourself for any other programs, either. You don't want to do anything else; you want to become an optometrist. And if you're going to give that all that up just because some boy broke up with you, then you aren't the kind of student I thought you were."

Okay, well…that was rude. "I don't know what kind of student you thought I was," he sneered. "But I don't—"

"I'll tell you what kind." Hal tossed his pen back down again, and there was a sharp edge to his voice that Kevin wasn't used to. "The kind who overcomes a drug addiction and a suicide attempt and still manages to graduate  _magna cum laude_. The kind who steps up to every challenge given to him, no matter how much he might complain along the way. The kind who storms right into his professor's office and doesn't care how stupid he looks, all because he's pissed that professor is dating his mother."

Kevin glanced down toward the floor at that last little remark, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Look, I understand this must be hard for you," Hal's tone had less bite now, but the frank urgency was still apparent. "Take a leave of absence if you really have to, but for God's sake, don't quit. You say the school reminds you of him? So make some new memories that don't involve him. Talk to Brynn more. Find some other friends. You're not the first person to get their heart broken, and you sure as hell won't be the last. So grow up, suck it up, and earn the degree that you went there for."

Damn, even Brynn hadn't been that tough when Kevin whined about the breakup. His words were so callous, stung so badly, and yet Kevin couldn't help but admit that they were…well, they weren't wrong. It was so typical of Hal that it wasn't even funny.

Kevin curled up on in the corner of the sofa with his legs tucked under him and was quiet for a moment, letting Hal's message ruminate in his head. Then he sighed. "You're a jerk, you know that?" he said. "But you're also a really good professor, and I don't give you enough credit for how hard you pushed me to do better. And this is the only time I'm ever gonna compliment you on that, so enjoy it while you can."

Hal let out a snort. "That's what it said on the outstanding faculty award I received a few years ago.  _You're a jerk but a really good professor_. Practically word-for-word."

Kevin rolled his eyes, but before he could reply he heard his mom rush down the stairs and into the room, her hair now perfectly coiffed.

"Okay, let's get going before we're late—Kevin, why are you sitting like that?" she chided suddenly, as she took notice of his posture. "Get your shoes off the couch, and you're going to wrinkle your pants."

Kevin let out an exaggerated huff as he stood up. "Fine," he said, smoothing out the creases that had begun to form. "Let's get this over with, I guess. I don't suppose they'll have coffee at this shindig."

"I'm sure there'll be hot cocoa," Ms. Price offered helpfully after bidding Hal goodbye and starting toward the foyer. "And Diet Coke. Lots of Diet Coke."

"Right," Kevin followed after her. "Because coffee's the devil, but aspartame? Well, everyone needs some aspartame in their life."

As his mother told him to take his sassiness down a notch, Kevin lingered in the living room entryway. Hal had already gone back to grading his tests, but glanced up as Kevin paused. After giving him a hesitant little smile, Kevin turned back around and caught up with his mom in the foyer.

* * *

_Meanwhile…_

Arnold glanced at the clock and bounced up and down a little on the couch. "Oh man, this is the best day ever," he cried. "In a few hours, I get to see my best friend! Just as soon as his sister's wedding thing is over. I can't wait; it's been forever!"

Naba smiled and shook her head, gathering up her materials in her backpack. She was off to a study group for one of her nursing classes. Personally, Arnold thought that Friday evening was a horrendous time for something like that, but when he questioned her about it she'd simply explained that they had a major test Monday and this was the only time they could all meet, what with clinicals and all, and they would be rewarding themselves with drinks together afterward.

Honestly, Arnold was glad she was doing that tonight, because it had been  _ **way**_ too long since he and Kevin had hung out, so it was nice to have a night with just the two of them. Besides, this way Naba didn't feel compelled to invite him to the bar. Arnold hated hanging out with her nursing friends; he never knew what any of them were talking about.

"Give him a big hug from me," she told him now. "I have not spoken to him in a while. How is he doing after…you know…everything?"

Arnold sobered up at that, slumping back in his seat. "He's getting by, I guess," he said with a sigh. "His counselor's helping him and all, but he's still pretty sad. I'm worried about him; I don't like him being there all sad by himself."

"He is not alone," she pointed out. "He has Brynn."

"Yeah, but if I were gonna be sad, she's not really the kind of person I would want to be sad with."

"That is true, I suppose. Well, Connor is not doing much better. He's started drinking again. I told him it was a terrible idea and to quit after his first relapse but…" She trailed off, a mixture of melancholy and annoyance crossing her features. "Well, he did not listen to me."

Arnold scowled upon hearing Connor's name.  _Who cares what that asshole's doing?_  It was  _ **his**_ fault he was even in this situation, after all. "Why are you even talking to him?" he grumbled.

"Because he's my friend." Naba looked at him with her brow furrowed, and her voice had a defensive edge. "Why wouldn't I talk to him?"

"Your friend, huh?" He knew this could land him in hot water, but Connor had been a complete dick, and the fact that Naba either wasn't recognizing that or didn't care was pissing him off, damn it. "How can you say that after what he did to Kevin?"

"Relationships don't always work out, Arnold," Naba was using that tone he very well by now, the one that meant she was trying very hard to remain patient. "I am not going to punish Connor for that, and I'm not going to choose between my friends. Just because they are no longer together does not mean I can't still care about them both."

"Do you have any idea what Kevin's gone through because of that jerk? Connor completely broke his heart and now you're gonna stand by him?"

"Yes, I'm going to stand by him." Naba snapped, crossing her arms and facing Arnold with a challenging stare. "In fact, I encouraged him to end the relationship."

Wait…what?

His jaw dropped. "You did?!" he sputtered. " _ **When**_? How could you—"

"He didn't think it was working out," she explained. "I told him that if he really felt that way, then he needed to end it sooner rather than later. I figured he would do it a little more delicately then he actually did, but we all make mistakes, I guess. Do you really think he should have just strung Kevin along if he wasn't into it? How is that fair for either of them?"

Arnold just looked away, silently fuming. He didn't like arguing with her, and deep down, he knew she'd done nothing wrong. If Connor really wanted to break up with Kevin, then it was better to do it now before Kevin got even more attached.

But damn it, Connor shouldn't have wanted to break up with Kevin in the first place! Arnold remembered all too well the first few days after the incident, when Kevin couldn't talk to him on the phone, when he confessed that he'd started thinking about Adderall again, starting cutting himself again—Arnold's blood had run cold, and despite Kevin's assurances that he was working through it with his counselor, he just couldn't help thinking back to his friend on that stretcher, recalling those recurring dreams he used to have where Kevin killed himself in a number of gruesome ways. He'd almost bought a plane ticket to visit him in Indiana, but he couldn't really afford the expense and if Kevin found out that Arnold had to navigate getting the time off work, consulting with Naba on the issue, and asking his parents for money just to be closer to him, then it likely only would've stressed him out more.

And to think that after all that, Naba was  _ **still**_ supporting Connor? Ridiculous! She should know that Arnold would do anything for Kevin, and since he was her husband then she should feel the same way. Right?

Of course, even Arnold had to admit that was stupid. Kevin may be Arnold's best friend, but Connor was Naba's best friend. He'd comforted her when Mafala passed away, when Arnold was too upset himself to have any idea what to do. He'd walked her down the aisle at their wedding. Of course she wasn't going to abandon him. At least she had the decency to remain neutral.

Well…

Call it petty, but Arnold wasn't going to give Connor that same courtesy. After all, his bestie was better than Naba's bestie, and that was just a fact.

He turned back to Naba, who had slung her bag over her shoulder and was starting toward the door. "Well, I still think Connor's an asshole," he said petulantly. "I hate what he did to Kevin, and I don't wanna be friends with him anymore."

"Then you don't have to be." That same mixture of annoyed sadness was back in her voice. "I have to go; I will see you later."

He sat there with a scowl on his face as he heard her leave. Stupid Connor. Stupid Connor with his stupid drinking and his his stupid friendship with Naba and his stupid desire to break up with the greatest person ever.

Well, none of that mattered right now. Because in a few short hours, Arnold would finally see his best friend again. Soon, he would see for himself whether or not Kevin was really okay.

* * *

_A Couple Hours Later_

This wedding reception had been absolute hell.

At least to Kevin, anyway; most of the guests considered it to be a beautiful affair. Deb's dress was elegant, flowing, and modest. The cake was baked to perfection and simply gorgeous, covered in gold, aqua, and white flowers with a sparkling topper that read  _Mr. and Mrs. Coombs_. And as for the newlyweds, well, they were just so blissfully happy. Deb was right in her element, clearly soaking up her time in the spotlight as she clutched her husband's hand, and Mr. Price was looking at her with such pride that it made Kevin's insides twist. His father hadn't looked at  _ **him**_ like that since he'd left for Uganda.

Then again, Mr. Price  _ **would**_ be looking at her like that right now, wouldn't he? After all, much like when Kevin began his mission, Deborah Price—wait, it was Deborah Coombs now— was one step closer to fulfilling her destiny as a devout Mormon. Marriage and children. That was her primary goal in the eyes of the church. Never mind that she was just as smart as Kevin, that she'd had a knack for her business classes in high school and had often been told she had the talent and drive to make it on Wall Street if she really wanted. No, instead her economics major resulted in nothing more than an "MRS" degree, and her main plan now was to sit at home supporting her husband and future children while selling multi-level-marketing skincare regimens that Kevin was certain she'd only invested in because she was bored. And she wasn't doing any of this because it was what she had always wanted for herself; it was all because their bishop had told her it was Heavenly Father's plan, and she'd eaten it right up.

And Mr. Price thought that Kevin was the one who ruined their family? What a joke. Their family had been fucked up for ages.

"Kevin, dear, if you keep frowning like that, your face will freeze that way." He'd been glaring into his flute of sparkling grape juice, but looked up when his mom took a seat beside him.

"No it won't," he grumbled, but nevertheless tried to relax his face somewhat.

She just shook her head. "Honey, I know we aren't exactly in Debbie's good graces, but try to be happy for her today. She's family, after all."

Kevin watched his sister sway back and forth in her husband's arms on the dance floor. When he gave her a chaste, innocent peck on the lips, Kevin shifted his eyes. "I'm thrilled," he said dryly.

"There's no need for you to be so bitter, Kevin."

"Who said I'm bitter? I just said I'm thrilled, didn't I?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, you sure don't sound thrilled, that's for certain."

He let out a huff of frustration. "Okay, fine, I'm bitter. First of all, she stole the song  _ **I've**_ always wanted to use for the first dance at  _ **my**_ wedding, and second—"

"You wanted your first dance to be 'Enchanted' by Taylor Swift?" Ms. Price interjected with a puzzled look.

"Yes, Mom! But more importantly, what about you? How can you  _ **not**_ be bitter? You're the mother of the bride, and she's barely acknowledged you."

She pursed her lips and looked down sadly, and Kevin felt a twinge of regret for bringing it up. But then, she glanced back up at him and smiled. "I refuse to be upset with my daughter on her wedding day," she said simply. "Whatever issues our family is having, they can wait until tomorrow. I don't care about the childish antics she's pulling; today she's marrying the love of her life and I refuse to let this memory be tainted with—"

"The love of her life?" Kevin snorted. "Bullshit. Just like how Dad was the love of your life? I bet Deb wouldn't have even given that sucker a second glance if Bishop Gunderson hadn't been pushing them together like—"

" _ **Kevin**_. That's  _ **enough**_."

The look she was giving him now could make Navy SEALs cower in their boots. Kevin sighed, burying his face in his hands. "You're right," he admitted. "I'm sorry."

Here she was, trying to be a good mother to all her children and make the best of a bad situation, and Kevin was just shitting all over her efforts. She deserved an honest explanation, albeit perhaps a vague one.

"I got dumped a few weeks ago," he said shortly.

She said nothing for a few seconds, and Kevin peered up to see her watching him in alarm. "You…honey, I didn't even know you were seeing anyone," she said. "Who was she?"

"It doesn't matter, Mom," he replied, perhaps a little too quickly. "The point is I'm not seeing them anymore, and it really, really hurts."

Ms. Price tutted under her breath, reaching over to rub his back. "Oh sweetie, I'm sorry," she said soothingly. "Whoever she is, she's crazy to leave someone like you. You're so smart, and kind, and handsome…I know it might not seem like it now, but you're going to find someone perfect one day. There are so many other girls out there who would love to be with you."

She was right; it definitely didn't seem like that right now. Even so, he forced a hesitant smile on his face and took a sip of his grape juice.

"Thanks, Mom," he said. "It's just been difficult lately."

"You're still seeing a counselor, right?"

He nodded, and she moved her hand up from his back to give his shoulder a squeeze. "That's good, honey," she said. "I worry about you sometimes, and I wish you were closer to home. But I trust you, and I'm so proud of you. And someday, you're going to meet the woman of your dreams and this will all seem like nothing. I'm sure of it." She released his shoulder, gave it a reassuring pat, and then faltered.

"Wait, honey…it wasn't the girl you're living with, is it?" she asked. "Because I've heard horror stories about getting out of leases—"

Kevin had been in the middle of another sip and almost choked on his drink. "Brynn?" he sputtered. "Hell no, Mom; she's just my roommate."

"Language, honey. I was just checking," she chided. She accepted her own flute of sparkling grape juice from a server, and they were quiet for about a minute, watching several of the other guests out on the dance floor.

"You know, she's awful pretty. That Brynn girl, I mean," Ms. Price said coolly, and Kevin tensed. "You two might actually make a cute couple—"

"I'm  _ **not**_  dating Brynn, Mom."

"Why not? I've heard the best way to move on from heartbreak is to get right back in the saddle—"

"So you're saying I should make my roommate my rebound?" he pointed out, incredulous. "You were literally just talking about how hard it is to break a lease when things go south."

She held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, you've got me there," she said with a chuckle. "I just hate seeing you so gloomy."

He sighed and fiddled with the stem of his glass. She was trying; she really was. "I know. And thanks, but it's not something a rebound's gonna fix. It wasn't just a fling, Mom; I was in love with this person, and I'm not even close to being over it." He looked back over at his sister and her husband, feeling a pang of jealousy. "And I took too long to say anything," he added. "I finally said it at the end, but by then he was in the middle of breaking up with me so—"

"He?"

Kevin froze.

_**Shit**_.

He felt the blood drain from his face and clasped a hand over his mouth, though it was far too late to take back the tiny, all-too-revealing word that had slipped from his lip. His mom was watching him in confusion, waiting for some sort of explanation, but Kevin could only stare ahead, completely horrified.

Maybe if he passed it off as an error? Just laugh and say he'd meant  _she_ , of course. But no, Ms. Price was far from an idiot. He'd already reacted far too suspiciously for that to work.

"Kevin?" she prodded him, and he slowly lowered his trembling hand from his mouth.

"I—I…um, I…uh…I—well—" Damn it, why was his throat so dry, and how come he couldn't stop shaking?

"Kevin, what are you saying? Were you in a relationship with a—"

"I gotta go." He stood abruptly and raced out of the room before he had to hear anything else, ignoring her calls and the strange looks he got from a few other guests interspersed at various tables he passed by. He hurried through a set of double doors, past the kitchen and down a short hallway until he reached a back exit, then flung the door open and slumped down against the concrete outside. He buried his head in his hands, gripping his hair and letting out a short, dry sob.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

This was  _ **not**_  how he wanted his mother to find out. It wasn't the time, nor the place, nor…well, anything really. Truth be told, after she'd said that one day he'd meet the woman of his dreams, there was a tiny part of him that hoped maybe it was true. Maybe he would find someone else, a girl this time, and then his mother would never have to find out. He still could've had that life she imagined for him, and Connor would just be someone in his past, barely a blip on his radar.

Except now she  _ **knew**_ , all because Kevin fucked up a damn pronoun.

"Kevin?" The door swung open beside him. Of course Ms. Price followed him; of course she did. "Sweetie, be careful sitting down there on the dirty ground. That suit's a rental." Even as she said this, she slid down next to him, and Kevin flinched.

She sighed sadly and reached over, wrapping an arm around him. "Oh honey, I'm not mad at you," she said, and Kevin let his head fall against her shoulder. "I just want to understand. Are you…are you gay?" When he didn't respond, she added, "You've dated girls before; you were with Kimberly for years in high school. Does this mean you're—what's the word, one of those bisexuals?"

If he hadn't been so mortified, Kevin would've laughed at her naivete. "Something like that," he mumbled, because biromantic asexualwasprobably a bit out of her league.

She was quiet for almost a full minute, and Kevin tried really hard to keep his breathing steady.

"How long have you known?" she finally asked, voice almost a whisper.

He shrugged. "Uh, I dunno. Since around my mission, maybe?"

"Is that…was that the reason why…" she paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "Was that the reason you hurt yourself in college?"

"Not entirely," Kevin mumbled, staring down at the concrete by his feet. "But, I mean, it was part of it."

The only response he got was a small sniffle, and he glanced over to see her wiping her eyes.

"Mom," he stammered hastily. "Mom, I—I'm sorry, Mom. Please don't cry; I didn't—I don't—"

"Don't apologize, Kevin. You didn't do anything wrong." She pulled some tissues out of her purse, dabbing at her eyes.

"You know, when you were in that hospital bed, I prayed so hard that we wouldn't lose you," she went on. "The doctors had already told us you were gonna live but—well, anyone who tries that once could try it again. I decided then and there that there was nothing about you, nothing you could ever do, that would disappoint me, just as long as you were alive and healthy."

"Nothing?" Supportive or not, the entire conversation was so uncomfortable that Kevin wanted to crawl out of his skin. "Not even if I killed a guy and stuffed their corpse as a decoration for my living room?"

"Don't push it, honey," she replied wearily. "But no, Kevin, you being—well, attracted to men isn't going to change that. You're my son, and I love you, and I'm so,  _ **so**_  proud of you. I just wish that…well, I…I don't want things to be harder for you. You hear on the news about gay people getting attacked, and committing suicide, and—oh, for goodness sakes, your mission was in a country that tried to kill people for that, and—"

"Hey…hey, Mom, calm down." Kevin pulled away just enough to be able to look directly at her face, giving her the best smile he could muster in the moment. "You don't have to worry about that, okay? Um, I can't say no one's ever gonna hurt me—people can get attacked for all kinds of things—but I guarantee I'm not gonna try to kill myself again, okay? I may be a mess right now, but I promise things aren't as bad as they were back then. I, uh, well…" How did Hal put it, again? "I'm not the first person to get their heart broken, and I sure as heck won't be the last. I can get through this."

There was a part of Kevin that wasn't entirely sure about that last bit. He'd get through this? Hell, he'd barely made it through that little speech. But he  _ **had**_ to get through this, damn it, because he couldn't stand seeing her so upset for his well-being.

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes again with the tissue. "Of course you'll get through this, Kevin," she said, as if sensing his doubt. "There's nothing you can't do."

She took a deep breath and squeezed his shoulder. "Was it that friend of yours? The one who used to be your district leader?" she asked. When his eyes widened, she clarified, "You haven't been in Indiana for long and you don't warm up to people easily. If it's hurt you this bad then it must be someone you've known for a while. That's why I thought it might be that Brynn girl."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, his head dropping back on her shoulder. "Yeah, it was him."

She clucked her tongue. "Well, it was awful stupid of him to break up with you."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Thanks, Mom," he said. "Ugh, I can't believe I did this here, of all places. You were literally just saying you wanted today to be a happy memory, and I messed that up for you, didn't I?" With a dry chuckle, he added, "I come to you, on the day of your daughter's wedding…"

She was staring at him blankly, as if waiting for him to finish that sentence. "That's it, Mom, it's a—nothing, nevermind. I'm sorry about this whole meltdown."

She said nothing, simply gazed ahead at the cars in the parking lot for a few seconds. Then she stood up, brushed the dust off her skirt, and held out her hand.

"Come here, sweetie," she said. When Kevin stood up and took her hand, she pulled him forward into a hug.

"Oh, Kevin," she whispered. "I learned a little bit more about you today. That's not gonna be a bad memory."

Kevin opened his mouth to respond, but he honestly couldn't think of anything to say. There were no words to describe what he was feeling right now, this awkward mixture of embarrassment, gratitude, and sheer exhaustion. Instead, he tightened his hold around her just a little more.

* * *

_A Couple Hours Later_

If there was one thing Arnold knew about Kevin Price, it would be that…well no, that was a dumb thing to say, because Arnold knew tons of things about Kevin and couldn't possibly narrow it down to just one. So if Arnold was going to list the many things he knew about Kevin, somewhere on that list would be the fact that he loved structure. He was a planner to his very core—everything had to be done just right—and he hated the unexpected.

Thus, when Kevin showed up on his doorstep for their little reunion and told him that he'd accidentally come out to his mom at the wedding, Arnold instantly knew that his friend had to be feeling like a hot mess. Which is why he'd led Kevin to the couch to let him pour out his heart and soul—well, after he'd hugged the living daylights out him, of course. Arnold hadn't seen his best friend in forever, after all.

"I guess I shouldn't be freaking out so much," Kevin was saying now, leaning over with his head resting on Arnold's shoulder. "She took it well, I guess. Better than I thought she would, anyway. I just…I wasn't ready for her to find out."

"Yeah, but think about how much better it's gonna be!" Arnold said brightly in a feeble attempt to cheer his friend up. "It's awkward right now, but it's not gonna stay that way, right? And now that she knows you were dating Jerky McJerkface, there's no more secrets between you two. Which is awesome!"

Kevin faltered before letting out a surprised little laugh. "Jerky McJerkface?" he asked. Then he lowered his eyes, face glum. "You don't have to hate him because of me, you know," he said. "Connor's your friend; don't feel like you've gotta choose between us."

Arnold gripped the armrest of the couch, annoyed.  _Why wouldn't I hate him because of you? Because of what he did to you?_ "Nah," he grumbled. "He's been pissing me off lately."

Honestly, it was Connor who ruined everything here. Connor was the one who broke his best friend's heart, who couldn't appreciate the amazing person he had in his life. Connor didn't  _ **deserve**_ anyone liking him after that. Of course that didn't mean he'd be completely alone; he had Naba, after all. Naba was too good and pure for this world, and that's why Arnold loved her—because she was a good person who stood by undeserving assholes like Connor McKinley.

"Anyway, that wedding couldn't have been all bad," Arnold said, because talking about Connor obviously made Kevin sad, and Arnold wanted none of that business. "I mean, all your family was there. It had to be nice seeing your sister."

"Which one? Deb?" Kevin let out a derisive snort. "She didn't even talk to me. And she stole my first-dance song."

"She stole 'Enchanted?' No way!"

"She totally did!" Kevin pulled away and sat up with a scowl on his face. "She knew how much I love that song. And the worst part is that she never would've even heard it live if it wasn't for me. I was the one who took her and her friends to the  _Speak Now_  concert since they were too young to drive." Crossing his arms, he glared down at the coffee table like it had offended him somehow. "That was all me, being a good brother, doing her a favor because she wanted to go, and this is how she repays me."

"I mean, that was really nice of you, but to be fair," Arnold flashed Kevin a teasing grin and added, "I didn't know you back then, but I'm pretty sure you  _ **also**_ wanted to go to that concert."

Oh great, now that glare was fully centered on Arnold. At least there was no real malice behind it. "You know, what I wanted or didn't want isn't really relevant to the story, Arn," Kevin quipped.

"I'm just saying, Taylor Swift is your favorite so it's not like you were really inconveniencing yourself by—"

"No she isn't. Kelly Clarkson is my favorite singer," Kevin corrected. "As my best friend, you should know that."

"Whatever, they're basically the same."

"They are  _ **not**_ the same." Kevin grabbed a throw pillow and playfully chucked it in Arnold's face. "All your sci-fi and superhero stuff is the same, you know that? And now they're all in each other's movies and it's impossible to keep up. So there."

Arnold just snickered in response, and Kevin chuckled a little too before settling back against Arnold's shoulder. "I've really missed you," he murmured.

"Aww, bestie!" No matter how many years they remained friends, hearing things like that still warmed Arnold's heart, like he couldn't believe someone would actually express such a sentiment to him. "I've missed you too. I can't wait to move after Naba graduates. Indiana sounds awesome!"

Kevin shrugged. "It's okay, I guess. But I'm kind of bitter with my whole life over there right now, so I'm not the best judge. I wish you could come sooner."

Arnold wished we could, too. Because Kevin just looked so worn out, and Arnold couldn't stand sending him back to Bloomington on his own like this. Not when he knew what Kevin was capable of, how easy it was for him to self-destruct. Not when he remembered how his heart had sunk a few weeks ago when Kevin had confessed he'd been struggling with cutting. Not when he could still so vividly remember that stretcher being loaded into an ambulance in front of the library.

Then again…

"Maybe I can," he replied.

Kevin sat up once more and shot him a confused look. "Don't be silly, Arn," he said. "Naba's not graduating until December; of course I don't actually expect you guys to move before then."

"Well no, Naba can't move sooner," Arnold clarified. "But  _ **I**_  can."

"And do what? Just leave Naba here?"

"It's only for a few months. She can take care of herself."

Kevin shook his head. "You haven't even talked to her about this," he said. "You can't just up and move by yourself right now. Aren't you trying to save money? Isn't that why y'all are living with your parents until Naba graduates? What're you gonna do, crash on my couch?"

"No, I'm not gonna sleep on your couch! We can share your bed." Because how awesome would that be? A sleepover every night for almost three months? Hell, yeah. "It'll be like in Kitguli!"

"I mean, I guess," Kevin said with another shrug and a bemused expression. "But…Arnold, why? Do you really want to just up and move across the country early like this?"

_Why? Maybe because I don't want you carving up your skin._  But Arnold could only imagine Kevin's response to that. "Yeah. Yeah, I do," he settled on instead. "You're my best friend and I miss you."

Kevin pursed his lips. "And you're gonna miss Naba if you move," he pointed out. "Look, at least talk to her about this first, okay? I don't want you two fighting and, like, getting a divorce or something."

"Well yeah, I'll talk to her. But, um, is it okay if I do move? If she says yes, I mean." Which she totally would, because Naba was the best and most understanding wife ever. "I could go back with you on Sunday! Oh, but I can't fly with you, because I'll have to drive since I'll need my car and all. Hey, can you cancel your flight? That way you can drive! I haven't had my license for that long; I don't wanna drive that far."

"It's a nonrefundable flight, pal," Kevin replied. "I guess I'd get a credit, though. I could put it towards a future flight; I haven't bought tickets to come back for Naba's graduation—wait, that'll be the same time as Christmas, won't it? I was gonna drive so I could bring the dogs. Well, I'd use it for something."

"So you'll drive, then?" Arnold asked hopefully.

Kevin sighed. "Yeah, but I'm not cancelling anything until you talk to Naba."

"Okay, awesome!" Arnold bounced in his seat. This was perfect. Everything was coming together just right, and he couldn't be happier. "Naba's gonna be glad you still want to go to her graduation. She was worried you might not want to since…uh, y'know…"

"Since Connor's gonna be there?" Kevin finished flippantly. "Of course I'm still gonna go. I'm so happy for her—the school should do a feature on her or something, no joke. It's not everyday a girl from a rural African village terrorized by warlords earns an American college degree. Plus, I kinda want to visit the campus again. I miss that place."

"We can swing by tomorrow if you want," he offered. "Oh guess, what? Naba said they're moving the Starbucks from the union to the science hall where you had all your classes, and it's gonna be bigger now. The place where it used to be is an Einstein's."

Kevin just stared at him for a what felt like a very long time. "Are you freaking serious?" he huffed. "Ugh, they  _ **would**_  wait until I've graduated to do that. You know how convenient that would've been for me? How much time I could've saved?"

"Okay buddy, the union wasn't  _ **that**_  far away from your building."

"Still though."

Arnold laughed. Then, overcome with emotion, he reached over without warning and threw his arms around his friend. Beside him, he could feel Kevin falter in surprise.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Hugging you."

"Well I know that," Kevin replied. "But why?"

_Because you're sad I want to make you less sad._ "Duh, because I've got over two months of no hugs to make up for."

Kevin laughed. "Fair enough," he said, relaxing into Arnold's hold.

* * *

_Later That Night_

When Naba returned home, she found Arnold sitting on the couch playing Xbox, Kevin slumped over fast asleep and snoring softly by his side.

"Hey," Arnold said, eyes glued to the TV screen. "How're the nursing peeps?"

"They are all fine." Careful to not wake Kevin up, she kept her voice to low murmur. "We are feeling pretty good about the test."

"Uh huh. Were you feeling pretty good before or after you went out for drinks?"

"Both," she replied with a grin, letting her bag fall to the carpet. Arnold let out a quiet giggle and then gestured down to Kevin.

"He's tired," he said.

"I can see that," she replied. "Did he enjoy his sister's wedding?"

"Meh," Arnold said. She waited for him to elaborate, but he merely remained fixated on the game in front of him. With a shrug, she headed into the kitchen for a glass of water.

She made it back to the living room, glass in hand, just in time to see Arnold's character get killed. With a small groan, he slumped back in his seat. Instead of trying again, though, he let the controller fall in his lap and stared over at Kevin thoughtfully.

"Naba," he began. "I wanna go back to Indiana with Kevin when he leaves on Sunday."

She frowned, not following. "You mean…to visit?" she asked as she took a seat in the chair adjacent to the couch.

"No, I mean like, for good," he clarified. "I'll get a job there, and then we'll both come back for Christmas and your graduation and—"

"Wait, what?" Where the hell was this coming from? "So what, you're saying you're going to quit your job and drop everything here? When did you decide that, Arnold?"

"Just now. Like, earlier tonight. Naba, look—"

"What are you going to do?" She heard her voice growing tight as her annoyance grew. "Quit your job without notice and use all our savings to run off to Indiana and get an apartment months early, without me?  _ **Why**_?"

He paused, squirming uncomfortably. "Um…I thought you would be more supportive of this."

"What on earth made you think that?"

"I don't know!" The pitiful tone in his voice would be funny if she weren't so flabbergasted. "I just didn't think you'd be this mad. Or mad at all, really."

"I am not mad, Arnold. I…" How could she possibly explain this? His whole plan, it was irresponsible. It was reckless. It was downright pointless—stupid, even. And how could they ever start a life together if he was willing to drop all of their plans any time he got the slightest impulse? "Just take a moment to think this through. What is your boss going to say when you quit?"

"She won't care," he quickly explained. "She's been wanting to hire her neighbor's kid but there aren't enough hours to give him, so it's a win-win, really. I'll find a job in Bloomington, I swear! I think I can still get on at the Target there."

Okay, fair enough. "And will you be able to afford rent on your own?" she asked. "I am serious about saving money, Arnold. We will never be able to have children or buy a house if we don't save up, and I refuse to ask your parents every time something comes up—"

"I know that. I was just gonna stay with Kevin until you join us there."

"Kevin does not live alone," she reminded him. "Is Brynn okay with this?"

Once again, he faltered. "Um…I forgot about Brynn," he said lamely.

She just shook her head. "Arnold, this is ridiculous. I will be graduating soon enough; just wait until then."

"I can't wait until then!" he wailed. Naba blinked in surprise and glanced over at Kevin. Thankfully, the other appeared to still be lost in dreamland. She quirked an eyebrow at Arnold, waiting for him to explain his outburst.

"I'm really worried about him, Naba," he said, his own eyes set on Kevin. "You haven't heard the things he's said to me lately. He's lonely, okay? He was having a hard enough time before the breakup. And now he's even more stressed, and sad, and uh—don't tell him I told you this, but he said he cut himself after it happened."

She winced. Shit, that was…that was rough. "Is he still doing that?"

Arnold shook his head. "He said he isn't. But Naba, you know how he gets. I think it would really help him if I was there, y'know?"

She pursed her lips and wrung her hands in her lap, letting out a long, slow sigh. She did know. Naba also knew there was no fighting him on this. The people in Arnold's life meant more to him than anything else. If he thought one of them was in trouble, then he'd drop anything—including the plans they'd so carefully crafted together—to help them.

That didn't necessarily bother her, though. She didn't want a man that prioritized her and only her, just like she didn't want Arnold to be the only priority in her life. And if he was doing it to help someone they cared about, then she could respect that. Because that selflessness was honestly one of the things she loved most about her husband.

"You have to get Brynn's permission first," she finally said, voice steady and firm. "And when you get there, you're going to find a job, any job, and stay there until you find something full-time that you are happy with. No more of this switching around, it is not good for your résumé and will hurt your chances of finding something you like. Understand?"

His shoulders slumped in relief and he nodded vigorously. "Totally," he said. "Don't worry, Naba, I'll take care of everything."

"Well, I will miss you," she said with a small smile. "But I suppose it won't be very long."

He chuckled and replied, "Yeah, and you got your state board exams and stuff—soon you're gonna be so busy you won't even have time for me!"

Damn, he had to remind her of those, didn't he? She laughed and then glanced thoughtfully over at Kevin.

"Arnold, just one thing," she began. "I know you are worried about Kevin, but…" She trailed off, contemplating exactly how to delicately word her thoughts. "Try not to hover over him too much, okay? The last thing he needs is to feel like you do not trust him to take care of himself."

Arnold followed her gaze over to his friend and nibbled his bottom lip in thought. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, true." Then he picked up his controller and returned to his game with the same intensity he had before, almost as if their conversation had never occurred.

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

Indiana University was freaking huge.

Seriously, Arnold had thought Weber State was big, but this place? It was downright jacked. It could eat three Weber States for dinner and still have room for dessert. It was also the prettiest damn college campus Arnold had ever seen (not that he'd seen many, mind you), with its picturesque limestone architecture, fall foliage, and red-brick walkways. Honestly, he had no idea how Kevin managed to get his work done, because if Arnold went to school here, he'd spend all his time exploring every nook and cranny of this place.

Which is exactly what he was doing now. Kevin was in class and Arnold had the day off from Target, so he'd taken Bailey and Poptart for a walk. Once he'd returned home he still felt a bit antsy, so he'd decided to walk the short distance, sans dogs this time, from Kevin and Brynn's apartment to the college campus. Taking in the many restaurants, bars, and shops filled with students along the way, he quickly decided that Bloomington was awesome. And he'd only seen part of it!

He couldn't wait until Naba got here. This was gonna be a great place to live.

He was moseying along a wooden footbridge over a babbling stream, however, when his mood was quickly tarnished by the sound of one particular asshat's voice. Sure enough, he turned his head to see Connor a few yards behind him, chatting with a wispy-looking undergrad wearing an IU polo. The two were walking considerably faster than Arnold and were therefore quickly gaining traction. Arnold looked pointedly away and prayed that Connor wouldn't recognize him.

"See, the thing is, if you're wanting to do a program like that, there's rules about what food vendors we can use. Which is fine, we're just gonna have to check with—wait…Arnold?!"

Well, so much for that. Arnold came to a halt, ducked his head, and fixated his eyes on the water beneath them, hoping Connor would take a hint.

"Arnold, oh my gosh! I haven't seen you in forever." Connor strode over, leaning against the railing in front of him, and Arnold blatantly avoided meeting his eyes. "Naba mentioned that you were in town; how've you been?"

Well, so much for that, too.  _Guess I'll have to be a little more blunt._ He looked over at the girl with an exaggerated expression of confusion.

"Oh excuse me, did you hear something?" he asked her. When she just blinked at him, puzzled, he added, "No? Huh, I thought I heard something. Sounded a lot like diarrhea. Must be the creek. It's not as peaceful as you'd think, know what I mean?"

With that, he quickly and confidently strutted forward.  _There. Take that, Jerky McJerkface_. Behind him, he heard Connor mutter something to the girl about checking in with her later, and then his former district leader was hurrying after him.

"Arnold Cunningham, get back here!" It didn't take long at all for Connor to catch up, but Arnold just continued walking forward, eyes focused ahead. "Arnold, listen…look at me, damn it…oh my God, seriously? What are you, twelve?"

When Arnold still didn't acknowledge his presence, Connor resorted to walking alongside him, talking at him like an annoying mosquito that Arnold just couldn't manage to swat away. "Fine, look, obviously you're pissed at me," he snapped. "You can think whatever you want, but you  _ **do not**_  get to undermine my authority in front of my RAs, you got that?"

Oh, good Lord. Arnold finally stopped and shot Connor a look of disdain. "Undermine your authority?" he repeated. "What authority? I'm sure your RAs know what an asshole you are."

Connor snorted and crossed his arms. "Did Kevin put you up to this?"

"He didn't have to. I call it like I see it, and what I'm seeing now is a big fat asshole."

He turned around and started off again, only to have Connor hurry around him and block his path.

"Arnold, look, can we just talk about this?" he pleaded. "I don't want to fight with you—"

"No, you know what? You plain old suck, Connor," Arnold spat as anger swelled inside him. He was sick of this. He'd been avoiding his former friend for a reason, and he didn't want him here right now, asking for a reconciliation like everything could just go back to the way it was before. "You really super suck. Because you made my bestie cry. You made him cry and cut himself and—"

"He started cutting again?" All traces of annoyance on Connor's face were instantly replaced with panic and guilt.

Well, shit. Kevin  _ **probably**_  didn't want him sharing that particular detail to his ex. "That's none of your business," Arnold quickly snapped. "He's doing better now, by the way. No thanks to you. But yeah, you broke up with Kevin which means you basically broke up with me, too. So there, in your face, I'm done, buh bye."

Connor just stood there, looking away with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't doing anything to defend himself, and honestly that just pissed Arnold off even more.

"And you know what else?" he fumed. Okay, maybe he  _ **wasn't**_  done. They'd long ago reached the other end of the bridge, and he was now pacing back and forth on the grass beside Connor. "What kind of person dumps Kevin anyway? He's the best boyfriend ever! He's nice and smart and probably gonna make a buttload of money after he graduates. Also, he's hot. Like, super hot! Way hotter than those other dudes that gay guys are into, like, I don't know…" he wracked his brain. Who the hell  _ **were**_ gay guys into, anyway? "Like Ed Sheeran and Walter Cronkite or whatever. So yeah, you're pretty dumb for breaking up with him. You're dumb, and stupid, and I'll never forgive you."

Connor looked over at him. His eyes followed Arnold's movements for a bit, before he cracked a wry smile. "You know, Cronkite's not bad as far as old dead guys go," he said. "But…Ed Sheeran? Really?"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear your dumb jokes."

Connor just sighed and strode a few steps forward toward a bench. He settled down on it, and gestured to the empty spot next to him. "Have a seat, Arn."

Arnold scowled. "I'm not sitting next to your stupid meanie-pants self—"

" _ **Sit down**_ ," Connor commanded. "You look like an idiot, stomping back and forth like that."

Arnold grudgingly plopped down beside him, angrily kicking a pebble on the ground across to the other side of the sidewalk. Shit, he wanted to go home. It was getting really hard to be pissed at Connor while he was indulging him like this, being all reasonable and crap, and Arnold couldn't stand that. Loathing his best friend's ex was so much easier than trying to figure out where their broken circle of friends was supposed to go from here.

"I hate the way things ended between Kevin and I," Connor admitted. "I would've given anything for it to work out between us. I loved him. Still do, actually. But Arn," he turned his head, giving Arnold a pointed look. "Have you ever considered that maybe he isn't the dream boyfriend you think he is?"

"No, I haven't considered that," Arnold replied stubbornly. "Because I'm sure he is." Even though, let's be real, Arnold had known his bestie long enough to realize that, as great as he was, he had his share of issues.

"You don't know what it's like to date someone in the closet," Connor explained. "Let me ask you something. What would you do if Naba had refused to tell anyone about you? If she wouldn't touch you when other people were around? If you weren't married right now, because there's no way marriage would be a possibility for the two of you since you can't really keep that under wraps?"

"I'd be okay with it. Because I love Naba and I'd do anything for her." As he spoke, however, part of him was wondering if that was really true. Would their relationship really have blossomed the way it has if Naba had done that?

Connor was eyeing him as if he could read his thoughts. "Yeah, you say that now," he said. "But trust me, it gets old."

Well damn. Arnold was feeling so called out right now, and frankly it sucked.

"I'm sorry it couldn't work out, Arnold." Connor was staring down at the sidewalk now. "I get that you hate me; and honestly, I don't blame you. If I were you, I'd hate me, too. I know how much Kevin means to you."

Crap. Slowly, Arnold felt the rest of his anger seep out if him like air escaping a leaky tire. It didn't feel nearly as good as he would've thought though; instead, he just felt so unbelievably sad.

"Damn it, I don't hate you, Connor," he confessed, because deep down, he'd known all along that his fury had been misplaced. "How the heck can I ever hate you? You're my friend, you big ol' dummy. I'm just…ugh, I'm so mad at you! Well not at  _ **you**_ maybe; but like, at the situation. You weren't supposed to dump him. You guys were supposed to be together forever, just like Naba and me. And then you'd get married and we'd all move to Orlando together and be next-door neighbors, and our kids would go to school together and—and…"He took a second to catch his breath and then shot Connor an accusing look.

"And another thing!" he cried. "You sure as shit weren't supposed to start drinking again. What the hell, Connor! I had to drive your ass home with my learners permit after you almost snorted cocaine while drunk off your ass, and  _ **this**_ is the thanks I get!?"

Well, at least Connor had the decency to look ashamed at that. "I know," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I'll…I'm trying, hon. I really am." Then he leaned back, crossing one leg over the other and gazing up toward the sky. "You know, that plan you had for all of us, it sounds nice. Here's the thing, though…Orlando was always Kevin's dream. I've never liked Florida very much."

Arnold bit his lip. Maybe it had never been realistic. But it would have been so fun…

Connor suddenly let out a sharp laugh, jarring Arnold out of his thoughts. "You and Kevin are cut from the same cloth, you know that?" he said. "Between the two of you, I cannot keep my staff in line. After I broke up with him, he stormed off and told the desk assistant that I was a dick. Bastard. And I swear have the most gossipy team of DAs in the world; they talked about it for weeks." He laughed again, but there was no humor in it. It was so dark, that it was almost creepy. "God, I miss him," he added, and Arnold knew he wasn't talking about the DA.

"Do you think you can ever be friends again?" he asked tentatively.

Connor was quiet as he continued to stare at the sky. He remained like that for a while, long enough that Arnold figured he wasn't going to get a response. Then however, Connor's eyes flickered toward his and he offered a sad smile.

"I hope so," he replied. "I really, really do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This one was tough. Let me know your thoughts!


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